


Brink of Salvation

by TipperTupper



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canon Compliant, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Torture, Interrogation, M/M, Minor Character Death, On Hiatus, Pre-Canon, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Sadism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TipperTupper/pseuds/TipperTupper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I could tear you limb from limb, rip out your optics and make you scream in agony, and still I would obtain nothing from you. Yet… there is but one thing I need to know, and then I will get all that I want out of you, scout.” His mouth tilted ever so slightly, sadistically, reaching his optics in a brightening light that flashed and then dimmed to glow wine red. When the warlord spoke again, it was in a slow voice, enunciating each syllable with a wicked intimacy, “What is it that you most fear?”</p><p>~~</p><p>During the War for Cybertron, Bumblebee is captured and interrogated by the Decepticons.</p><p>Based on the events mentioned in the episode "Operation Bumblebee".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Single Crack

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my horrible headcanon!
> 
> As much as I love proverbially sucker punching readers, I'm not evil. Read the tags, be forewarned, I'm a detaily sort of person who sleeps and bathes in details.
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy!

_“Holy water cannot help you now,_   
_See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down_   
_And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out_   
_I’m gonna raise the stakes,_   
_I’m gonna smoke you out.”_

     -Florence and the Machine, “Seven Devils”

 

* * *

 

“Designation: Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha.” 

The Autobot’s words resounded with an echoing static through the surveillance feed. His voice was tired and worn, scratching only a whisper, but even through the holoscreen, Megatron saw his optics flare with a fiery defiance. This one… this one would not break so easily. 

Behind him, Starscream paced impatiently, “This is a waste of time!” He sliced the air with a servo and his wings twitched, “Vortex’s had his way with that wretched Autobot for a good two orns and all we have to show for it is his designation!” 

A high pitched whirring escaped the holoscreen, and Starscream paused to look as a drill began to pierce each of the scout’s knuckles. Sparks flew about, and groans of pain fought their way through clenched denta, optics flashing almost white for a split second. 

The seeker gave a humorless chuckle, the edges of his mouth tipping, “Though not from any lack of trying,” he grumbled. Ruby red optics flicked over to the astute figure watching the screen. 

Megatron’s servos were clasped behind his back and he all but ignored his first lieutenant. 

“My Lord Megatron,” Starscream stepped forward and tapped his fingers together. After a moment, the warlord glanced to him, gaze coaxing him to continue. “Far be it from my place to offer advice, but the offensive is mere solar cycles away and I fear time is of the essence. Would it not be wiser to simply offline this one and capture ourselves another Autobot… One who’ll most definitely squeal within joors?” 

Megatron turned halfway, an enigmatic expression flashing over optics dimmed to a menacing mahogany. “You do not believe this one will talk.” 

Starscream hunched a little lower, his wings dipping and servos twirling around each other nervously, “Well no – no that is not what I meant. I mean,” He flicked a servo to the holoscreen, “This, uh, Bumblebee is merely a scout, as he keeps so generously reminding us. Surely a warrior or a general would have more information to give and,” He paused, standing a little straighter, “As you and I both know, some Autobots can be quite… stubborn.” 

“Is that so?” Megatron raised a brow and turned back to fully facing the holoscreen. 

Energon poured profusely from the scout’s new wound. His servo lay limp at his side, soaking in its own life liquid. Bumblebee flinched when Vortex stepped closer to him, not a breadth’s width away, and his eyes narrowed as he looked straight ahead. 

“D-Designation: Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha.” 

Starscream let out a quiet noise fringing somewhere between a scoff, a snicker, and a growl of frustration. 

“Very well,” Megatron glanced sideways at his second, “Notify Vortex that I will be taking his place in the interrogation.”

 

* * *

 

The clicking on the other side of his cell dragged Bumblebee out of recharge. It was time again. 

His limbs ached and his fuel lines fluttered in loose exhaustion, but he forced the rest of his systems online. He needed to prepare himself for another round of Vortex’s torture, as creative as it was agonizing. 

The entry-pad beeped, and light spilt into the dark room as the door whirred open. Bumblebee squinted and brought an arm over his brow, optics ever so slowly adjusting to the sudden brightness. It made his processor sting. 

A single figure stood in the doorway, looming and casting a shadow across the floor. Usually, Vortex would come with guards or assistants… But… 

The Autobot’s spark pulsed cold when he realized. This wasn’t Vortex… this one was too large, with eerie vermillion optics that illuminated base features ever so slightly. This one was Megatron himself, leader of the Decepticons. 

Bumblebee remembered him like the battle had been yesterday. The fallen buildings of a grayed Tyger Pax, the thin, still air that carried a silent charge of electricity, and the violently majestic figure that stood atop ebony rubble, gazing their way expectantly like he’d been waiting for the Autobots… he remembered it all so translucently, the memories that flew before him seemed almost tangible. He remembered the relentlessness of the mech and the viciousness of his attacks and the optics that burnt with both primal rage and glee. 

In a rush of fear, he scurried to put as much space between the two of them, lifting himself slightly off the floor and scooting backwards until his backstruts scraped against the far wall. Why was he here? Why the pit was _Megatron_ here? 

But Megatron simply contemplated the scout. His head tilted slightly and his optics flicked over his body as tinges of amusement crossed his face. He withdrew a small cube of energon and stepped into the cell - an empty square of darkness save for Bumblebee’s mangled body. The door automatically shut behind him, and the room immediately fell to its former grayness. 

Bumblebee eyed the energon cube hungrily. They’d done that for the first few solar cycles – taunted him with fuel, keeping it just out of reach while the torture was carried out and promising that once they got their information, Bumblebee could have as much as he’d like. Even though it hadn’t worked, he’d been grateful when they stopped. 

Primus, he hadn’t refueled in so long. The meals he was given once every two solar cycles were minuscule, simply enough to keep him cognitive to feel the pain and speak. 

This time though, Megatron knelt in front of Bumblebee, trapping him, and offered him the cube. And smiled. 

Oh, it wasn’t a nice smile. It wasn’t gentle or reassuring. It was a small smile, sinister and dark, promising things far worse than anything Vortex had done so far. 

It chilled Bumblebee to the core. Yet… 

There the cube was, even the sight of it caused his most primal systems to hum with satisfaction at the prospect of finally, _finally_ , getting fed. He tried to ignore the base instincts, the ones thrumming to the forefront of his processor, screaming and demanding him to steal it away and drink every last drop. 

Instead, he coached himself enough to reach out for it with a slow and shaking hand, only to be stopped as another thought crossed him. What if it was laced, poisoned? A Decepticon wouldn’t simply give him extra fuel out of good will, especially not one with a sadistic grin. 

Megatron must have noticed him hesitate; he raised a brow and smiled a little more in realization. “It’s not poisoned,” He said in a low voice, “If I had that intention, there would be much simpler ways to go about it.” 

Bumblebee drew his hand back, processor protesting at that simple action, and eyed the warlord suspiciously. 

Megatron watched him for a moment before bringing the cube to his lips and taking a sip, never breaking eye contact. He held it back out to Bumblebee, not saying a word. 

At that, the Autobot snatched the energon away. Somehow, he didn’t care now, watching someone else consume even a drop of what would’ve been his called to the desperate and primal part of him and it was all it needed to finally push past his better reasoning and down all the energon in a nanoklick. 

It wasn’t quality energon. Even in his starved state, Bumblebee knew this stuff was as bad as it got. But it was a feast. It was the finest of wines that settled every chemical craving in him, and a part of him wanted to thank Megatron for the foul fuel; a part of him that he immediately quelled and shamed. 

When he finished, Megatron plucked the cube from his servo and set it aside, his smile completely vanished. He looked down at Bumblebee’s body, inspecting the less conspicuous wounds, and the scout bristled under the optics that seemed to peel away armor. 

Broken and bent, stained with his own energon and limbs resting at awkward angles, Vortex really had done his best. 

Megatron hummed as he picked up Bumblebee’s right servo between his forefinger and thumb. The scout flinched and attempted to keep his face from contorting in pain. It was deformed, still leaking energon, and completely limp. Every bit of protoform in the servo had been cracked and broken. 

“They did quite a number on you,” Megatron mused. He moved each finger, watching as Bumblebee’s breath hitched and his body tensed. Each joint bent agonizingly slow with talons that scraped against open sores, “Tell me, scout, what kind of information does your processor possess that is worth this torment?” 

Bumblebee shut his optics and fought back cries of pain. He opened his mouth, forcing out that same mantra, “Designation: Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha.” 

Megatron chuckled darkly. The silver servo suddenly clenched tightly around the Autobot’s hand. 

“Nngah!” 

Metal creaked under the force. Traces of energon began leaking out between Megatron’s digits, dripping to the ground and illuminating immediate surroundings. 

“Ah, but physical pain will do nothing to get you talking,” Megatron spoke in a lilted and granulated voice, smooth and deep and menacing in its mild humor, “Vortex failed to see as much.” He released Bumblebee’s crippled servo and slid an energon stained talon under his chin and tilted his helm up, forcing the scout to look at him. “I could tear you limb from limb, rip out your optics and make you scream in agony, and still I would obtain nothing from you. Yet… There is but one thing I need to know, and then I will get all that I want out of you, scout.” His mouth tilted ever so slightly, sadistically, reaching his optics in a brightening light that flashed and then dimmed to glow wine red. When the warlord spoke again, it was in a slow voice, enunciating each syllable with a wicked intimacy, “What is it that you most fear?” 

Bumblebee couldn’t stop himself from shaking, whether in terrifying apprehension or the winding of pain reverberating through his hand, he did not know. But instinctively, he tried to back away, only to claw at the wall behind him, and looked at the Decepticon lord with optics that, no matter how fearful, were burning with defiance. 

“Designation: Bumblebee,” His voice shook a little, but his words were firm, “Scout, theta2-573-alpha.” 

Megatron didn’t say anything in response. He mused over the little scout, his massive frame all but enveloping Bumblebee, and blinked. The servo fell from the Autobot’s chin and Megatron dipped a talon into one of the many gashes that littered his body. 

Bumblebee flinched and looked away, eyes narrowing as nerves fired throughout the wound, winding through fuel lines in sharp pangs every time that talon grazed against ripped wiring. 

“Flogging,” Megatron mused, “Electrocution, the rack, frame breaking, siphoning, sensory deprivation, recharge deprivation, stress positions, sensory overload, processor fragging, starvation, oil-torture, excruciating temperatures, full body paralysis, orifice expansion, even some minor flaying…” He stared straight into Bumblebee’s optics, amusement glinting behind a near straight face and sharp denta, “You have more bearings than most, scout. And I am only left to assume that your fears entail not your own suffering, but that of others.” 

The scout twitched, his eyes widening in an almost unnoticeable amount, and Megatron caught all of it. 

His helm tilted and he removed his servo from the wound, leaving a dripping tendril of energon. He leaned closer to Bumblebee and stroked one of the Autobot’s door wings in a way he knew was reflexively relaxing - up and down, slow fluid movements – breath barely ghosting over audials. 

Bumblebee tensed at first. After what seemed like eons of abuse, of all physical contact ranging from unpleasant to excruciating, the gentle touch was impossibly foreign. And surprising, sudden… nice. 

This was simply some tactic, some way to get the prisoner’s guard down and make the pain twice as worse; a taste of sugar to make the bitter even more so. He squirmed against the soothing strokes at first, but again his body betrayed his processor and began to relax. He was just too tired… he couldn’t fight this… 

And then Megatron spoke, it was more of a purr, a whisper of honey and stone, “I will get the information I desire by any means necessary, be it offered from you or not. If you do not cooperate, I just may be forced to find another Autobot more… _willing_ to do so. Perhaps your friend, what was his designation?” He paused and palmed the door wing before running a finger along its edge and then returning to charting smooth circles, “Ah, yes, Jazz. I wonder if he will be able to endure all that you have.” 

Bumblebee went rigid. He turned his helm sharply and glared at Megatron, eyes wide and malignant. “No.” It was all he said, and though his voice was quiet and raspy, it rang like molten inferno and ice. 

Megatron smirked. 

The warlord leaned back and stood, fingers tracing lightly over Bumblebee’s neck before falling to his side. Without a word or another glance, he turned and left the prison cell. 

 

* * *

 

Starscream turned from the surveillance feed and waved a servo as he took a few aimless steps. “’No’,” He repeated in a tone almost, but not quite, of mockery and shifted his weight, “I suppose it’s better than the continuous repetition of ‘designation: Bumblebee’ we’ve been listening to for the past few orns.” The seeker let out a sigh and held his servo up, inspecting it with a raised chin, “If our Lordship can only manage to get one word at a time, well…” 

“Mind your tongue, Starscream,” Skyquake rumbled from his perch against the wall. His optics narrowed and the beginnings of a snarl wound around his mouth, “Lest you forget who we serve.” 

“Yes, yes,” Starscream let out a breath and gestured grandiosely, “Lord Megatron, master to us all.” 

“You think you can do better than him?” Skyquake growled - a challenge, ripe and anticipatory as tensions wound through the fliers. It had been cycles since anyone left the ship, and fresh air was becoming more of a necessity as anxieties rose. 

“No, I do not think I can do better than your all powerful Megatron,” Starscream retorted, “I simply believe we must speed things up if we want any useful intel or else all these efforts will be for nothing. And Megatron seems to be taking his sweet time!” 

“Is that so?” The all too familiar voice resounded from the entryway to the bridge. 

The first Lieutenant froze as Megatron stepped forward and approached the two. 

Skyquake pushed himself from the wall and immediately bowed deeply, “My Liege,” He said in a voice smooth like cherry wine. 

“Skyquake,” Megatron nodded to his warrior, motioning for him to rise, and then turned to look back to Starscream. His face was unreadable and his arms stayed loosely at his sides, optics flaring brightly. “Starscream.” 

“My – My Lord,” Starscream gave a quick bow and his wings drooped, “I did not expect you to return here.” 

“Obviously.” The lord raised a brow and put his hands behind his back, “I take it there’s something on your mind.” 

“Well, uh, simply put,” Starscream composed himself and gestured to the holoscreen, still relaying surveillance feed, “I worry that such a delicate process as extracting information in this sort of manner may take too much time.” 

Megatron gave a single nod, “Ah.” He said with a humorous lilt, “Do not fret over such miniscule things. We have eight solar cycles, and rest assured that will be plenty of time.” He paused for a moment and thought, before looking back down at the seeker with a small smirk, “Though to error is the downfall of all sentience. If the scout does not talk in four solar cycles, terminate him and find another who will.” 

“Of course,” Starscream bowed, his mouth tilting to a small and sinister smile, “Master.” 

 

* * *

 

Bumblebee watched the warlord enter his cell. The lights from outside silhouetted his figure for a moment and then vanished, leaving only the red optics to shine against the Autobot. 

This time, Bumblebee was immediately bombarded by Megatron’s EM field. It extended to every corner of the room and blanketed sensors with a vibrancy as chaotic as it was aflame. 

The scout scooted backwards, searching for even a mild reprieve from the sudden intensity that washed over him, and once again felt himself hit the wall behind him. 

Megatron just watched. He leaned against the wall next to the cell door and crossed his arms, unblinking, enigmatic and unreadable. 

It was like an increase in gravity – Megatron’s field was almost palpable. It thickened the air in heat and crushed Bumblebee’s audials like unrelenting, thundering, white noise. Generic intensity, no emotions were revealed, merely a presence, _his_ presence, that encompassed everything. Bumblebee felt a shout rise through him, and only a grunt escaped his ground denta. 

He automatically hunched in on himself, but his optics remained unable to leave Megatron’s magnetic gaze. 

The warlord just stared, optics a crimson color that shone brightly and bled red shades onto silver armor. Unrelenting and patiently waiting for… for something. 

This was nothing like how Vortex’s EM field would flood over Bumblebee during the interrogations. It had been like a maniac sitting beside him, urging him to scream a little louder with every electrical current or tear of the armor. But this… this was an all consuming entity of no obvious emotion that dripped into his very thoughts. 

All Bumblebee knew was that he needed to get _away_. 

Instead, he forced himself to sit a little straighter and breathe a little deeper. “Desig-Deisgnation,” He ground out in a hoarse whisper, “Bumblebee, scout, theta2-573-alpha.” 

Megatron didn’t react. He was still as a statue, only moving from slow intakes. His EM field bore down a little harder for a split second, slicing into Bumblebee’s throat with a wave of heat. 

How could something like an _EM field_ be so agonizingly powerful? 

They stayed like that for an innumerous amount of time. It felt like joors, solar cycles even, but for all Bumblebee knew, it could’ve been klicks. His processor was wearing out, battered down from the energy charges that Megatron continued to exhume. 

Endless… Endless… 

And then, just as suddenly as it had beared down, the EM field lifted. 

Bumblebee gasped and drank the untainted atmosphere as though he’d been drowning. A wave of dizziness washed over him as his sensors were cleansed, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, his optics finally torn from Megatron. 

“Tell me something,” Megatron had the smallest inklings of a smile, “Other than your designation.” 

Bumblebee felt a shudder skitter through his form. But he didn’t do anything, a sound didn’t escape his voicebox, and though his body and mind were weakened, he remained defiant. 

Megatron tsk’d, his helm tilting as he gazed at the broken figure, “Or do I need to coax the words from your mouth?” He pushed himself off the wall and approached the scout. 

Pedes stopped right inside Bumblebee’s vision, and the Autobot lifted his helm, optics slowly grazing up the looming figure and flashing brilliant shades of pale blue. His brow furrowed and he locked eyes with the warlord, light clashing in a melding of purple between them, feeling his helpless self flood with anger. Bumblebee would not be defeated so easily. 

Unchanging, Megatron did not break eye contact as he reached into his subspace. He withdrew a datapad that glowed softly in the dark. Holding it out for a moment, the mech dropped it in front of the scout so it clattered to the ground and glared up at Bumblebee. 

And what was on it… 

Bumblebee snatched it up with a shaking servo. 

Pictures. Pictures of a shackled mech, energon dripping from his mouth and body battered with dents and frame scattered with splotches of gray. Jazz. Unable to stop himself, Bumblebee sifted through all the images; his friend in a dark and empty cell, his friend being strapped to the floor, his servos being dipped in acid… 

“You don’t want your dearest friend to offline because of you,” Megatron tilted his helm when Bumblebee’s optics glared up at him in disbelief and clasped his hands behind his back, inquisitive, “Do you?” 

Bumblebee pushed himself up, but before he could force his legs to stand, Megatron bent down. Kneeling; a silver knee rested just next to Bumblebee’s, a clawed servo placed on the wall behind him, and searing optics leaned close enough to the scout’s that they illuminated every corner of his vision in red. He was so close, and Bumblebee once again felt the tinges of Megatron’s EM field, but this time, it hummed with dark pleasure. 

“Or perhaps I’ll shift my attentions to him,” Megatron mused. His other servo grazed Bumblebee’s abdomen, and the Autobot immediately recoiled away from the touch, only to bump against his arm – completely trapped. 

The talons continued to trace a feather path along the stomach plating, so light Bumblebee only registered the touch moments afterwards and it never faded. The Autobot grimaced; it was sickening, primitively pleasant, and in some ways as bad a sensation as a drill piercing through living mesh. 

Megatron moved forward slightly, breath ghosting right over Bumblebee’s audial and denta so close he could almost feel it against his helm, “Allow him to feel every pain I have to offer.” The warlord said in a quietly rolling tone.

Bumblebee stared straight ahead before his optics darted back down at the pictures, chest heaving. If they really had Jazz, he told himself, the scout would’ve been of no use to the Decepticons. They would’ve already offlined him, left him for scrap… He opened his mouth, “You’re lying,” He spoke in a voice brimmed with static, “These are staged.” 

A deep chuckle reverberated through his audials, and the gentle touch traveled over his hips, dipping lightly into seams before skidding over an upper leg. “Do you really believe that?” And this time, those denta really did graze over Bumblebee’s neck. 

_No._  

The scout shuddered in disgust while his nerves sent small tingles of delight. It was all gentle, coaxing, sweeter now that this touch was the only reprieve from continuous agony - when it, in and of itself, was merely another flavor of torture to Bumblebee’s mind. He attempted to pull away again, but was completely, helplessly, utterly trapped between the warlord and the wall. 

“Is that really a gamble you’re willing to take?”

The servo moved up and trailed patterns along Bumblebee’s shoulder and neck almost possessively while Megatron began to mouth along his jaw. 

In a flash of anger, Bumblebee in-vented and tensed - He would not be broken. In a quick movement, he pulled his helm back and then snapped it forward, hitting Megatron square in the face. 

The warlord grunted, his helm snapping back, before his mouth twisted in a wicked grin. He rubbed a servo over his cheek for a moment and let out a singular laugh. His other servo lifted from the wall and grabbed Bumblebee’s jaw, thrusting it upwards so that the back of his head hit the wall with a crack, and then surged forward at the newly exposed trachea. 

Bumblebee twisted in the grip as a wet glossa dipped into the gaps of thin plating and shot heated electricity through his veins. His denta ground together as he tried to get away, snarls breaking out of his voicebox – noises foreign to his own audials. 

But he would not beg. He would not plead or shout, as much as the words beat at his spark and thundered to escape; Bumblebee did not speak a single word of weakness. 

The servo moved down again, trailing lightly and igniting sensors, careful not to touch any of the wounds scattering Bumblebee’s frame. Denta nipped at sensitive wires and that mouth worked along his neck with wicked promises.

He would not yield. Not to this. 

Yet he was helpless. 

Bumblebee fought against the servo that pushed against his jaw relentlessly, and the more he twisted, the more he felt dents creak under the force of Megatron’s strength; the sensation so at odds with the coaxing and gliding of the warlord’s attentions. 

Megatron’s hand grazed over Bumblebee’s pelvis, and the Autobot jerked as far away from the touch as he could. The servo lifted, and instead began to rub along the inside of a thigh. Enticing and gentle, igniting a fire he didn’t want ignited… 

Then his engines purred. 

Bumblebee felt the humiliation twist inside him when his own audials picked up the sound, belatedly realizing he was the one making it. Pathetic, pitiful… completely helpless over his own body. He didn’t want this. Primus, Bumblebee had thought the physical torture was the worst that the Decepticons would do. He’d thought the boiling oil and the limbs stretching and dislocating all across his body would’ve been the excruciating limit. 

Megatron chuckled. 

He pulled Bumblebee’s chin down, their optics meeting for a split second. And Bumblebee knew he saw it, the way optics flashed a near white and the way his EM field flared, Megatron saw the fringes of decay, a single crack, on his defiance. 

Talons pierced the scout’s faceplates, forcing his mouth open; and then Megatron surged forward, mouths enmeshed and a glossa thrust violently into the small oral cavity, muffling Bumblebee’s shout and reverberating Megatron’s growl through his throat. 

Bumblebee shoved his good servo forward, reflexively trying to push the looming mech away. He clawed helplessly at the silver chassis and doubled his efforts in trying to break away. 

This was worse. This was unbearable, so much worse than Vortex’s flavor of torture. 

And then another thought flashed through him and pierced his spark. He would not allow this to break him. He would endure it, if only to keep this mech away from Jazz. 

Sharp denta nipped at Bumblebee’s lower lip, prodding and grazing nerves and never once causing physical pain. 

He would endure… 

The scout felt his servo curl into a fist and the rage flare for a single moment of red and then ebb - washed over by rotting. He flinched when Megatron’s thumb dug deeper into the sensitive metal, it drew a drop of energon that warmed the plating under it and fell in a small rivulet down Bumblebee’s cheek. 

Megatron seemed to relish in all of this. His chest rumbled a deep growl and his other servo dipped to spread Bumblebee’s legs. 

He would endure this. 

With that single resolve, Bumblebee allowed his fist to fall from the silver chassis, thumping on the ground. He closed his eyes and braced himself, suddenly even more acutely aware of the touch so dangerously close to his panel and the mouth that ravished him. 

Every fiber within him screamed to fight, ached to attempt to twist away, to show that no matter what, he would never stop fighting. Instead, he felt the wall on his back and forced himself to relax. Oh, it was hard. To shove back every tinge of his mind – it was one of the hardest things Bumblebee had done in the entirety of his young existence. 

He would endure this; take every bit of it, because even to this… rape, he would not yield. No, he never would.

And then… and then Megatron pulled away. Relief flooded Bumblebee’s body as the figure distanced himself ever so slightly, the servo relinquishing its grasp on Bumblebee’s jaw. 

The Decepticon lord peered at the prisoner, all traces of a wicked grin diminished. 

And then white. 

The pain was delayed, but Bumblebee’s voicebox immediately short circuited when Megatron thrust his servo into one of the gashes on his chassis. The tender mesh around the wound ripped and deepened into a hole. Molten pain seared through every vein and Bumblebee gagged when he felt energon rise to his mouth. 

His servo felt for the wound, scraping at metal until a digit just barely sunk into the gaping hole. It burned and yet, it was painless. His plating seared with the energon he was suddenly profusely leaking, and finally, he forced his optics to look down. 

His spark. It was piercing into his very spark chamber, copious amounts of life liquid drowning everything in a silent glow. Static escaped him as the scout looked back up, to stare at the warlord, to ascertain what was happening, but he saw nothing; only his cell. 

Before Bumblebee could think, his body gave, and a thud enveloped his audials, vision swimming as he fell to the ground. Energon pooled around him and he clenched his chest in a feeble effort to stop the bleeding. 

As his vision began to give way to darkness, the Autobot saw a pool of light flood over the dark prison cell. A muffled whirring came in a second’s delay, registering only afterwards that the door had opened. And finally, he saw it. The looming figure of Megatron, only basic features and blurry outlines, stood at the doorway, back turned to him, and he could hear the rumbling thunder of the warlord’s voice. 

“ _Soundwave_ ,” Bumblebee could hear the words, he could, but somehow, his processor wouldn’t translate. It was all noise, merely Megatron’s voice. “ _Our prisoner appears to be bleeding out…_ ” 

Before the voice quieted, Bumblebee felt himself deafened. His optics offlined, and any remnants of pain diminished, cleansed by a blissful nothing. 

He was dying. 

The realization didn’t come with horror or terror, he found himself suddenly too tired for such emotions. But Jazz, didn’t they have Jazz? The thought left him confused and worried. He would’ve liked to stay alive longer, would’ve liked to keep Megatron away from his friend. But that was okay. He was going to die, Jazz would take his place, and he was only sad. 

Jazz would be able to endure it, just like he had. 

Bumblebee’s fingers twitched and scraped lightly against the ground, pulling him slightly from the nothingness. 

He was so young, much too young. He would’ve lived for so much longer, but that was okay, this death was nice. This was so much nicer than the last few orns, a final escape. 

No evil would reach him in the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a garbage truck full of kudo cookies for Babymamhu, my partner in crime and beta-reader. 
> 
> Thank you for enduring my torture factoids procured from my possibly completely incongruous amount of research for this story, and thank you once again for encouraging me to extinguish my shame and actually finish and post this!
> 
> ~~
> 
> Anyhow, please comment! I need feedback!


	2. Teetering on the Edge

_“Say goodbye, as we dance with the devil tonight._  
_Don't you dare look at him in the eye, as we dance with the devil tonight._

 _Trembling, crawling across my skin._  
_Feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine…_

_I won't last long, in this world so wrong.”_

          -Breaking Benjamin, “Dance with the Devil” 

 

* * *

 

 

_Everything was… beautiful. It was glorious, magnificent, nothing like Bumblebee had ever imagined; Cybertron was whole._

_Before his own optics, the Rust Sea expanded to an endless shimmer of liquid. Daylight shattered across the waves in broken colors, from blues to yellows to purples that rippled into the horizon. Against the skyline, the towers of Kaon rose high and proud, silhouetted against the waning sunlight. The two moons hovered over the scenery like silent guardians and the sky was a cloudless clashing of a brilliant sunset._

_It was home._

_A breeze coiled around Bumblebee, playing with his very fingertips and casting from his pedes to his helm. With it, the exotic scent of atmosphere greeted his senses like an old friend._

_He was home._

_The ship tilted against a thunderous wave and a spray of oil splashed over Bumblebee and the tang left a tingle in his throat._

_A chuckle brought him to look to his left. One of the other soldiers, Cliffjumper, stood next to him, peering straight ahead, leaning his forearms against the ship’s railing._

_“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?” Cliffjumper mused. He turned his head, contemplating Bumblebee with a half smile for a moment before looking back to the sea. “Y’know,” His shoulders shifted, “I see you standing here, looking out there, every day before refuel and recharge like clockwork. It’s a beautiful sight, but I can’t say it’s one I’m not bored of.”_

_“Yeah, well,” Bumblebee followed suite and folded his arms over the railing. He rested his chin his forearms and stared ahead, “I’m not bored of it yet.”_

_“Heh,” the red mech glanced sideways at him, and Bumblebee pretended not to notice, “My first time on the Rust Sea, I fell overboard.”_

_“No way.”_

_“Yup, I was ogling the scenery when some crew member, funny guy, decided to inform me that the liquid wasn’t really oil,” He smirked, “said it was energon, but really dim.”_

_“And you believed him?” A smile made its way onto Bumblebee’s face._

_“Hey, what can I say,” Cliffjumper shrugged, “I’d only been online for a good four orns, I would’ve believed him if he said it was made of high-grade. Anyways, he tells me it’s dim energon, and when I’m naturally a little skeptical, he tells me to look a little closer, ‘cause then I would be able to tell.” He let out a laugh and smacked the railing, “So I lean over the edge ‘cause I’m an idiot, and whap, he smacks me over the edge and I get soaked. Imagine my surprise when I fall in and it’s real oil.”_

_Bumblebee let out a laugh, trickling to a chuckle as he lifted his chin. His optics focused on the ground, where their pedes stood side by side, an easy comparison of size._

_“So, kid,” a servo slapped Bumblebee’s back in a friendly gesture, “just how old are you anyways?”_

_Yeah, he knew that question was coming. He let out a breath and leaned a little deeper into the railing. “Ten orns,” He spoke as nonchalantly as he could._

_“Yeah, not buyin’ it.”_

_Bumblebee frowned, he looked up at Cliffjumper with a raised brow. They were of equal rank, both cannonfodder, it shouldn’t have mattered. “Three,” He admitted, “Three orns.”_

_A low whistle escaped Cliffjumper’s mouth, and he looked at the younger mech with something akin to surprise. “I knew they were practically recruiting off the assembly line, but slag, they used to give you at least five orns of basic training…” He gave Bumblebee another pat before turning to look back over the scenery, “Three orns and already deployed for combat? That’s a new record.” He looked back to his comrade with a smile._

_It was a smile that spoke of so many different things, Bumblebee wasn’t quite sure what to make of it; but before he could think any further, it vanished into a humorless smirk and Cliffjumper continued talking, “I’m gonna keep you alive, ‘Bee. You’re gonna see the end of this war, and you’re gonna go back to Praxus when all the violence is over and have a fragging good life. Both of us are.”_

 

* * *

 

His limbs ached, and his chest… his chest ached like nothing else. It pulsed all the way to his pedes in flashes of energy. And it was cold and silent…

An automatic full body shudder began to drag Bumblebee into consciousness. His plating scraped against a hard ground. It was – he was dead. 

…Right? 

His tanks churned with emptiness and broadcasted its own pain to his processor. With only a moment’s hesitation, the Autobot attempted a deep in-vent, only for his chest to tighten and twist and burn. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

It took a few tries for Bumblebee’s optics to flicker on, but eventually, he was able to look around with only intermittent frays of static interrupting his vision. He was laying on his stomach, his face to the floor. If he’d been rescued, these Autobots weren’t exactly hospitable. 

Bumblebee slowly moved his arms. They felt heavy as lead and protested every motion as he pushed himself up. He curled his knees under him and… Oh Primus, he couldn’t feel his pedes. They dragged against the floor and he cringed at the awful noise it made, never once slowing in his actions. 

Finally, he propped himself into a sitting position and looked around. 

His spark immediately fell. He was in his cell.  But… that didn’t make any sense, Megatron had killed him. He’d felt the life leave his body. 

No, this couldn’t have been happening, not at all. In absolutely no time in his life had he greeted death so sweetly as then, so why was he still functional? Why couldn’t it all just be over? Why? It circled his processor and thrashed at his nerves, creaking his armor and leaking into the dirty ground. Why? 

Why was he still even here? 

 

* * *

 

Steadily, the klicks turned to joors, and the joors frayed and blended. All simply melded into the gray and black shades of his cell. 

It was silent, it was cold, it was dark… this was so similar to what Vortex had done, shut down nearly all of Bumblebee’s senses, allowed him to wander in nothingness for what felt like eons. It had almost driven him mad, and the Autobot could only hope they weren’t attempting the same thing.

* * *

It had taken awhile, but Bumblebee had begun walking around. He paced around cell like a caged animal, his pedes dragging along the ground and his legs burning with every step. But the pain was a blessing, it occupied the emptiness. 

Oh, he was going to go mad. He could hear every in-vent, his fans, his spark-beat, his pulse, his mind. He had to stay distracted, count away the klicks and the joors, just wait until the Autobots rescued him. 

… They _were_ going to rescue him. 

Bumblebee ran his undamaged servo along the fresh welds over all the wounds the Decepticons had apparently healed. Tracing lightly over the ridges, until his fingers landed on the largest weld, the one above his spark chamber, where Megaton had stabbed him. It throbbed at the touch, the wound still freshly mended. 

His tanks churned once again and his other servo clutched at the wall, scraping and bleeding. 

* * *

He’d lost count. Primus, he’d lost count of the klicks or joors or cycles or whatever it was he’d been counting. It could’ve been solar cycles for all he knew. 

It was just all gray. Gray and black and every shade in between. 

* * *

When was the last time he’d refueled? He felt so starved, on the brink of collapsing. His servos were going numb and his vision was swaying in tandem with every step. At this rate, he was going to starve to death.

Somehow, it was a nicer prospect than anything he’d ever known.

 

* * *

 

Like a searing blade, the whirring crashed into Bumblebee’s audials in vibrancies of pain. He immediately snapped awake from a slumber he didn’t even realize he’d been taking and tensed.

Once again, light spilt into the cell in a flashing of white. The scout squinted his optics and glared up at whomever was entering from his perch on the floor. 

The door shut and Bumblebee now saw the warlord clearly. 

He nearly sobbed in relief – the nothingness was over. 

But then his frame flashed in terror. The nothingness was over, yet just as those red orbs that peered down at him promised… Megatron would give something much worse. 

This time, though, he did not flinch, he did not scurry away to the farthest wall, he met Megatron’s stare with the brunt of his thinning defiance. 

“You’ve grown bolder, scout, I will give you that.” Megatron rumbled; then, just as before, he brought an energon cube into view. 

And just like that, Bumblebee’s systems whirred completely online, acutely aware of just how famished he was. His optics flared and trailed after the fuel as Megatron sat down. The silver servo lowered in an almost demure grace and placed the cube on the ground. A finger tapped at it once before Megatron slid it to the scout. 

The energon drifted to a stop just outside of Bumblebee’s reach, and before his processor could manifest any cohesive thought, primal instincts had him lurching for it. He swiped up the energon, a sharp pain rearing through his arm at the sudden movement, and at least had enough control over his thrumming programming to sit normally before drinking it. 

The energon was the same foul stuff, but just as before, it made his body hum with delight, settling his tanks and easing some of the aching. 

When he finished and set the empty cube down, a low chuckle escaped the statuesque form that still sat against the wall by the door. It rolled off of Bumblebee’s audials in a near operatic quality that stilled his frame and drew his optics to stare at Megatron. 

If it weren’t for the lack of movement and the violent regality that seemed to lull from him, the warlord would’ve looked to be lounging. With an arm draped over a raised knee and the other leg sprawled in front of him, he was a picture of relaxation. And it dominated the room. 

His optics peered in near slits, narrowed in amusement, and studied the broken figure the scout portrayed. “Quite a starved creature, aren’t you?” 

Bumblebee did not answer. He roughly wiped his mouth with a forearm before resting it down, nerves taut and wires thick with apprehension, completely still. He’d been fed, and Megatron still kept his distance, but something was going to happen, something else that was going to be worse and he was going to be ready for it. No matter what. 

They stared at each other, a defiant cerulean against a lazy mahogany, a battle of wills, it felt like; until finally, Megatron blinked. His helm tilted slightly as he mused.

“I wonder,” A smirk entwined against his voice, low and lazy, nearly conversational in its mockery, “If I could keep you as a pet.” 

Bumblebee did not stir. Oh, the anger flashed and raged against his frame, but shame flowed under it, eased its way into his conscious, and replayed the coaxing touches and the heat and the stirrings forced upon him and the anger quelled minutely under the rotting shame. But he did not stir, did not allow any of the warring emotions to take a physical manifestation. 

The mild light caught a gleam, and pulled attention to where Megatron’s mouth parted ever so slightly and revealed white denta in a thin smile. He pulled his leg back and stood, each movement quiet and fluid and still loud amidst the quietness that had just begun to settle. With slow easy steps, he walked towards the scout until Bumblebee had to tilt his helm to glare at those crimson optics. And with every breadth of distance closed between them, Bumblebee’s spark flickered and burned with a deeper and deeper dread - a string pulling taut, waiting to be snapped. 

Then, the warlord pulled something out of his subspace. It was a metallic cube, a box, about as large as one of his servos. Bumblebee’s optics darted between it and his optics. 

He lowered himself onto his knees right in front of Bumblebee, and scout’s fuel lines pulsed ice, his eyes widening fractionally and his chest heaving as the proximity grew closer and closer. Megatron leaned down, his frame enveloping Bumblebee, his gaze never breaking, holding the Autobot still with an intensity only matched by the EM field that began to trickle into Bumblebee’s sensors. 

A servo rested against Bumblebee’s chest, claws scraping near feather light touches against his frame, and he vaguely noted in his peripheral vision that Megatron’s other hand placed the box on the ground behind him and just to his left. 

The warlord leaned against his prisoner, plating barely touching, and his mouth hovered over Bumblebee’s for a nano klick before traveling forward to stop just above his audial.

No. No, not this again. He’d said he would endure it, but he didn’t know now. He didn’t know what was going to happen, if he was going to break. Now, all Bumblebee knew was that he wasn’t going to talk, but he didn’t know if he would be able to continue fighting. 

“Scout,” Megatron’s voice tumbled into his audial, completely unobscured and somehow so loud and yet so quiet, simply some enveloping entity that skittered all the way to his pedes, “Tell me, what’s in the box?” the servo moved up and then down, petting. 

Bumblebee did not answer. Frantically, he attempted to scoot away, but before he even got a single pace, a servo caught him. It held onto his shoulder in a firm grip, almost enough to hurt and just barely enough to dent metal. 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Megatron rumbled lowly and pushed him downward. 

That was enough to feed the defiance and let Bumblebee’s anger once again flare. He fought against every inch, his shoulders attempting to tear away from the iron hold, servos bracing against the floor and pushing against Megatron, pedes thrashing, all in vain. He was too weak, too tired and broken, even with the refueling, he was too weak; helpless. Completely at this mech’s mercy. Growls and snarls escaped his voicebox, sounding all the world like a cornered animal. 

It was too soon that his back hit the cold floor. Megatron loomed over him, a near silhouette with glowing vermillion optics and vague detail. His own optics widened to orbs, unable to tear away from the enigmatic gaze, and he braced himself for what was to come. 

The grip on his shoulder was relinquished, but he didn’t move. Instead he stayed frozen, preparing for the horrid reality… 

It was such a light touch, near a simple tingle and nothing else, a single digit that traced along his clavicle – all the while, those red optics burned into his, a pure color, uninhibited and blazing like fire. Megatron’s EM field flared and wrapped around Bumblebee, encompassing him in an insurmountable pressure, and at its edges, a single feeling whispered against his own field, leaking tendrils that coiled around his processor; lust. 

His tensions snapped. 

Complete liquid terror seemed to envelope Bumblebee. This was going to happen, the thought slammed into his mind and he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t disassociate himself like the Autobot commanders taught. 

Why hadn’t it felt so _real_ that last time? 

A large servo traced along the tip of Bumblebee’s door wings, where it was most sensitive, and a shudder cast through his body that pierced his derma and all the way to his protoform. And he could not discern whether it was from the rampant fear, or disgust, or that horrifying pleasure he hated most of all. 

Megatron leaned in, and Bumblebee realized that he’d never quite noticed just how _big_ the mech was. The scout stared straight ahead, up at the shadowed ceiling, and felt the hot breath of lazy ex-vents on the junction between his neck and shoulder, that joint where sensitive mesh was exposed. And this time, he was terrified to admit, he knew exactly why his sensory net tingled in response, delight racing along the gentle touches that the warlord continued to pool along his door wing, his chest. 

But he wouldn’t succumb. He wouldn’t give in, he would endure this twisted pleasure, this thing that wasn’t his own. 

And then Megatron spoke. It tore through everything and careened into his processor. The Decepticon lord slid up and spoke against Bumblebee’s audial, his mouth touching the metal softly and denta scraping against the more sensitive sensors, causing the scout to minutely shiver, “Humor me, scout,” He spoke in a more gravelly tone, a thick voice of the sweetest wines, “And guess, what exactly is in the box? If you do,” His glossa flicked over Bumblebee’s audial, and the scout recoiled from it, before he continued to speak in a slow enunciated cadence, quiet even when reverberating so close to him and tone rottingly intimate, “I just may,” He nipped at the audial, “Stop.” 

No. No, Bumblebee would not be playing these games. He yanked his helm away and turned it to the side, only to find himself face to face with the cube. Of course, Megatron had been planning this, had placed the box so it was right there, right in front of Bumblebee’s vision. 

How in the pit was he supposed to know what was in there; torture tools, maybe. And then his mouth went dry as other unbidden propositions made their way to the forefront of his processor – terrible things, lewd things that made his spark shrivel, if he had any doubts before, they’d all been eliminated, he wouldn’t put anything too low for a Decepticon. 

“No.” He said. It was supposed to come out strong, loud, piercing, something to show he wasn’t afraid. But even though the word rang with his defiance, even though it yielded nothing and burned with a fire he never knew he had, it was a hoarse whisper; and to his audials, it was a pitiful sound fringing into defeat. 

Megatron chuckled, low and prideful and menacing. Bumblebee was beginning to hate the sound, and he glared defiantly at nothing. 

The warlord pulled back slightly, staring Bumblebee in the eye, meeting the fiery cobalt glare head on. A devil’s grin graced his features and his EM field pulsed with a shade of dark pleasure distinctly different from the lust that was still an ever present whisper. 

A servo dragged down Bumblebee’s chest, and then stopped, a single digit traced the fresh weld over his spark chamber pulsing a throbbing pain through his systems, and then continued to caress downwards. 

“Such a defiant thing,” Megatron purred, he dragged a taloned servo along the inside of Bumblebee’s leg, fingertips diggings into the mesh, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to peel at the paint and ignite sensors. The scout flinched away from the touch, but the other servo held him in place by the waist, thumb rubbing against the sensitive abdominal derma. 

“I’ve seen greater mechs bow from less,” The warlord continued in a low voice, dipping a talon into the seams of the junction of Bumblebee’s pelvis and leg, stroking the wires and stoking the kernel of heat that was beginning to pool in the scout’s belly. He tried to move away, squirmed against the primal delight, but it only allowed Megatron to graze at deeper more vulnerable spots that tingled with even greater pleasure. “You’re hardly more than a sparkling,” Megatron’s voice was like silk, somehow at odds with his own words, “Yet you hold quite a rare level of loyalty to your Prime.” 

He paused and trailed a servo up Bumblebee’s side before he reached over and put a hand on the box, peering straight into the scout’s optics with an enigmatic gleam, “Such loyalty should be rewarded,” He rumbled and pressed something on it. 

A hissing noise enveloped the room, and Bumblebee found himself staring at its source; the cube. Its sides unhooked from the bottom with a click, jutting out slightly, and then it was lifted, the sides and top gone to present what it contained. 

Everything stopped. 

He didn’t gag, he didn’t cringe at the sight, but a different feeling pierced deep down, a searing black nothing of complete and utter shock that halted his very sparkbeat. 

Energon stained the faceplates of the head, it painted the neck where it had been severed with a ever luminescent glow, and Bumblebee found himself staring, glued, unable to look away, at the lifeless optics of Jazz. 

_Is that really a gamble you’re willing to take?_

Oh Primus. Oh Primus no, that couldn’t be – that couldn’t be Jazz. His head, severed… They really did have him, they had Jazz and now he was dead and here and they killed him and oh Primus no this couln’t be happening. Why? Why had they terminated Jazz? If they terminated him, why didn’t they terminate Bumblebee? 

They should’ve killed Bumblebee instead and now… 

Jazz’s mouth was dangling open, old energon stained the bottom lip, and it was all gunmetal gray. 

_You don’t want your dearest friend to offline because of you… do you?_

Oh no, Primus, it was his fault. The lifeless optics twisted, seemed to glare, spit hatred at Bumblebee, consume him from the inside out with complete and utter _decay_. 

Everything, nothing, it was all a sudden fray completely focused on the severed head that stared at him… all of it, everything, just… Jazz was dead and… 

Something, some smaller voice in the back of his mind began to scream and tremble from something else. It begged him to snap out of it, to get out, run away, and though it took what felt like eons to tear his mind away from that face that once used to smile at him and… he was finally able to tear away. 

It was only then that he realized he was no longer on his back. 

How? How hadn’t he realized Megatron had flipped him over? He was lying on his stomach, a servo on his helm successfully pinning him down, and another traced along his backstruts. 

Primus no - what had he done to deserve this? 

The air behind him stirred, and Bumblebee pushed against the servo, looking as far back as he could, optics wide orbs flaring like stars. All traces of a grin vanished, Megatron was far too close, and he loomed, staring at the scout with an expression far too flat and yet far too wild to be any singular thing while only a fraction of frictionless air stood between them. 

His voice rumbled like thunder, rolling over Bumblebee’s frame in heated breaths, “You were Jazz’s salvation,” Megatron’s words were a curse that burnt the Autobot to the core, “And your silence was his death sentence.” The servo stopped just above his aft and lifted off of him completely.

After a moment of silence, Megatron spoke again, “I am your salvation,” Bumblebee jumped when the tip of his door wing was suddenly stroked – it didn’t hurt, quite the opposite, but he couldn’t see anything, nothing beyond Megatron’s optics… or if he looked to the side, he could see… he stopped the thought before the rotting could weigh down again. 

“I hold your very spark in my hands,” Megatron’s voice was lower, more gravelly, coarse and yet silken as fine wine, and so, so terrible, “As well as the sparks of others; your friend here is not the only one in my possession.”

Oh, Primus – Primus, there were more? Optics flaring at the words, Bumblebee’s body went cold and he jerked against the weight that held him down. 

“Whether they live or die is up to you, scout.” 

…Why? Why him? Why was all of this put in Bumblebee’s hands? 

The hand on Bumblebee’s helm pushed down, forcing him as far down as he could, keeping him stuck and facing that… that head. He tried not to look, tried to look up and see what was going on, tried to look to the side, at the far wall, but everywhere in his peripheral vision, those dark optics beckoned him. 

He shut his optics, offlined them completely. 

He couldn’t look at Jazz, not when he was about to be violated in this way. 

But it made him completely and utterly aware of every touch, everything, horribly acutely aware. Still, he wouldn’t open his optics.

Gentle touches caressed Bumblebee in some twisted, soothing gesture so completely and utterly surreal in this setting. Megatron ran his servo up the length of Bumblebee’s doorwing, traced around its edges, and then fell to his back, trailed just under the dip of his backstruts, and then circled just above his hip before trailing up and mapping the same path over and over again. 

And then… and then it started. 

Something soft and wet trailed along the nape of his neck; a glossa, he realized. Sharp denta nipped and pulled at the more sensitive cables of his neck, somehow picking at each and every sensory node. All the while, Megatron ran a servo along the base of his upper back, along the spinal column, and then around the joints of where his wings connected. When a talon grazed it, it sent a sudden jolt of electricity through Bumblebee, beginning to ignite a fire out of the ashes of that kernel in the pit of his abdomen and petering out at his pedes. 

It was also enough to feed his defiance. He thrashed against Megatron, knowing full well that it was in vain. But he wouldn’t stop fighting, he wouldn’t succumb to primal pleasure, not when there was the _severed head_ of a comrade right next to him. 

Megatron growled against his neck and moved lower. He began to rub the doorwing joint easily between his forefinger and thumb, and his mouth trailed down along Bumblebee’s backstruts. 

But Bumblebee twisted against the grip as much as he could. Even though the scout’s systems began to flood with foreign heat, even though his mind fought against his very body, he fought. 

He didn’t want this. Primus, there was nothing he wanted less in his life. 

Something – something pressed against his armor between his legs. 

Automatically, Bumblebee’s optics snapped open. 

And then it all came tumbling down again. 

Jazz, Jazz’s severed head, his mouth perpetually hanging open as if in shock, completely black optics blindly peering at him… The energon that stained the colorless neck… everything hit him two-fold completely over again. The rotting pushed deeper – Jazz was dead because of him. His enthusiastic friend who would laugh and crack terrible jokes and those optics that used to burn with a fierce protectiveness were now lifeless and… and… and the mech that bore down on him, loomed over him like some fairytale monster and slowly, steadily, beginning to ravish him from the inside out, it was all too much. 

He couldn’t take it. He was too young, too naïve, too weak and pathetic, too tired to endure this. But he still held on, he held on dearly for a final moment of clouding defiance, and then his grip slipped, and he fell into the nothing. 

It was like a switch was flipped, the way his body suddenly went limp, when he suddenly stopped fighting against the Decepticon lord. His helm rested against the cool ground and he offlined his optics, allowing himself to succumb to the deepest pits of darkness, of complete and helplessness only paved over by the ever present, subtle and sickening flavor of arousal. 

Though perhaps - perhaps if he talked, if he told the information… the thought immediately vanished. Bumblebee was giving in, but he was not yielding. He would let Megatron do his worst, he take it and he would decay, but he would stay silent. 

A moment of silence passed over the room. 

The servo slid from Bumblebee’s helm. 

He ground his denta and waited. He would take it. 

He couldn’t stop himself from flinching when he felt the chest of the mech on top of him so very lightly press against his back, ventilations heating his neck. 

Megatron took one last lazy breath, “You can end this now, scout,” his voice was so low, gravelly and thick and wickedly sensual in a way that made Bumblebee tense with the remnants of fear that clung with him into the nothing. “Tell me what I want to know and your dearest comrades will be free. _You_ will be free.” 

Bumblebee did not speak. 

Oh, it was such an enticing prospect, far more enticing than he was certain it should be. Not just the scout’s agony, but the agony of his friends, his comrades, his brothers, it would be over for everyone. Just a few words, a few whispered words and it would be done with. 

But he did not say a word. He knew to the pits of his core that everyone would gladly endure this torture again and again instead of talking. 

A hand stroked over his shoulder and played with his side, trailing under armor and caressing seams. 

“No,” Bumblebee rasped out. He breathed in a shaky ventilation and re calibrated his voicebox. 

The hand slowed and maintained content to draw lazy circles around a particular sensory node that continuously relayed calm throughout his sensory net. 

But he wasn’t done talking, and one way or another, Megatron sensed it. 

His voice came out strained and brimmed with static, as though he had to use every reserve of his power to manifest them, “Kill them,” he said, “Torture them, do whatever you want to me… I won’t,” He in-vented, back pressing a little more into Megatron for a moment, and then ex-vented, “I don’t _care_ , I won’t tell you a damn thing.” 

Something shifted, it was so minute, a flare and then it was gone, and only when Megatron let out a dry chuckle did Bumblebee realize it was the warlord’s EM field. 

“You are not very adept at lying, scout.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, severed heads and crappy cut-off chapter endings, my two favorite things. 
> 
> This story was originally supposed to be a one-shot, and then a two-shot... and then a three-shot... but it keeps on expanding so now I honestly have no idea how long this is going to be.
> 
> Anyhow, I've never written anything in this... genre of sorts, so feedback would be absolutely lovely!


	3. Descent into the Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you, yeah you, are you ready for some HIGHLY EXPLICIT non-con? Yeah? Then ignore this warning and go on ahead!
> 
> As for anyone else reading this:
> 
> Warning!! This chapter contains highly explicit rape. If you wish to skip, don't read this chapter, AT ALL.
> 
> Also, a brief mention of the Cybertronian equivalent of the Pear of Anguish.

_“I'm frightened by what I see_   
_But somehow I know_   
_That there's much more to come_   
_Immobilized by my fear…_   
_I can stop the pain_   
_If I will it all away.”_

     -Evanescence, “Whisper”

 

* * *

 

He gently turned Bumblebee over onto his back. And it was just that, the gentleness - where he could’ve been handled like a ragdoll, large clawed servos treated him with care – that chilled his core. Because each movement, each lingering caress across his leg and abdomen, was accompanied by the wickedness of Megatron’s vermillion optics and the promise that at any moment, any teetering second, things would delve further, deeper, out of the surreal apprehension and into harsh reality.

Bumblebee kept his optics offlined, pathetically unable to meet the gaze of the warlord and unable to look away and at the severed head that continued to bear into his derma.

Everything was pulled taut, everything waiting, bracing… He would take it. He would endure it. He would decay. 

He was decaying.

A servo cupped the side of his helm, the heat stinging his faceplates, creeping across his chassis. Still, he kept his optics shut. Megatron caressed along his jaw, a digit dwindling just over his mouth and the hand tilting his helm back fractionally. Digits lingered over the sensitive plating in a slow and lazy movement, before the last fingertip slid off his chin.

“I can feel you tremble,” Megatron murmured in a voice so terribly intimate, like a lover whispering in daybreak, so terribly surreal against the faint scent of old energon and the hardness of a prison ground, “Feel the fear emanate from your frame,” He touched behind Bumblebee’s audial and curved his fingers under to trace around his neck, “And yet you offer no protest.”

Bumblebee did not reply. He’d said his piece, and no sound of protest, no begging or snappy remark, nothing would change this reality.

Fingertips dipped under his Adam’s apple and curved around it so very carefully. The touch dragged down his neck, dipping under the curve of clavicle armor and nudging at sensitive wires that sent a subtle and warm sensation under his protoform. 

It was painful. It was sweet and kind and it was the clean cut of a serrated blade dipping deep into the softest mesh. It made Bumblebee want to yank away and scream against the rotting that it bled into his core.

“Say the word, tell me where the Autobots are taking the Allspark, and I will grant you salvation.”

_No._

But he did not speak.

He didn’t trust his voice to speak – didn’t want it to come out in cracks and frayed with static or murmured with tinges of decay. So he stayed silent and felt his servos at his sides clench to fists.

Everything was still for a moment. It was a split second, really such a small interlude; but to Bumblebee, it was the world dangling from a tightrope, it was a small piece of eternity that left him completely and utterly pulled taut and on the brink of breaking.

“So be it.”

And then a servo glided along his frame. It was accompanied by a deep and steady breathing that vented heat across the side of his helm and neck. His nerve endings tingled and he felt himself automatically squirm as something akin to disgust filled his belly.

Megatron lifted the servo while simultaneously resting the other on Bumblebee’s doorwing. It remained stagnant, a simple touch that exhumed heat and violent life into his derma. 

Then his leg was lifted.

Bumblebee couldn’t stop himself from stiffening as the warlord easily slid his servo just below his aft and cupped his right thigh. It dragged down in a lazy velocity, lifting his leg so slowly and carefully leaving none of the surface untouched. Megatron grazed over parts seldom touched, sensitive and unused to attention, his fingertips caressed under armor and over inner wirings, where nerve clusters meant for one single, primal thing resided at surface level and remained primitively eager to be ignited. It was so damned intimate, so damned nice; Bumblebee had never thought a loving gesture could be so dark.

Yet he knew things were going to get worse.

His leg was set down, bent at the knee, and the derma continued to tingle even after the ministrations were moved to his other leg. Warmth was spreading under Bumblebee’s frame, pulsing ever so slightly in tandem with the long and steady strokes played along his leg.

And then Megatron’s servo rested under Bumblebee’s knee and propped it up as far as it would go. The position seemed to leave the scout completely splayed open. A cool breeze of air coiled between seams that were now exposed and the heat emanating from the mech on top of him grazed over his panel.

And complete panic immediately tore through him.

Maybe he wasn’t as weak as he thought, maybe he simply hadn’t fallen very far into the nothing - but without a single hesitation, Bumblebee’s optics flashed on and he suddenly kicked and thrashed against the hold on him. He felt the metal of his pinned leg dent against the unyielding grasp and snarled in anger and pain. 

His optics burned bright as suns, it felt, and he glared straight into the narrowed garnet eyes, defiance littering his frame as his entire world focused on the primal urge to _get away_.

He didn’t even realize that he actually _hit_ Megatron in the jaw until his hands were suddenly pinned above his helm. 

A low, guttural growl ruptured through the warlord’s chest and his EM field immediately flared.

It was… It was just like before. This all encompassing entity that enveloped the entirety of his senses, but that whisper was still there. It was a promise at his audial, a breath against his frame that danced over every nerve in so many ways; _lust_. The intensity was too much, it rang and it made Bumblebee want to thrash and scream and run and disappear and submit and fight and… And it was just too much. He simply froze, paralyzed for an uncertain amount of time. 

All the while, the two same words thundered in his chest, banged at his vocalizer and pleaded. 

_Stop, please._

But that was a beg, a plea, and he’d vowed to never make a word of weakness.

The air stirred above him, and his optics focused once again on the form above him.

Megatron shifted and lowered, his optics keeping contact with Bumblebee’s as he lowered his helm and planted his lips on the scout’s chest. And with the soft touch – if it were possible – his EM field intensified more and wrapped solidly around Bumblebee’s being.

The message was more than clear, it was a blade of crystal that cut so cleanly under the Autobot’s defiance; Megatron was claiming him, branding his core and his mind with a permanent place for the warlord to occupy. Megatron, in this most intimate of breakdowns, was going to haunt him for as long as he lived.

And then Megatron began.

He moved up Bumblebee’s chest, kissing and nipping along seams and dipping his glossa under armor and chasing the softest hints of arousal that coursed through Bumblebee’s fuel lines.

All the scout’s senses were encompassed, all his world dragged into the singular focus of the condensed force of this secular moment. His sensors were on fire, they were burning from the intensity – the field that wrapped cleanly around him and bled through his cracks, the hot touch of the mouth that passed across his shoulder and tugged lightly at one of fuel lines on his neck and sent thick courses of both disgust and the pleasure he so adamantly fought with every bit of willpower, the servo that held his leg up, rubbing against the seldom touched, sensitive metal, and…

Oh Primus.

No. Primus no, not there or there, please… 

It was simultaneous, the warlord bit down on his doorwing and ground against his pelvis. Bumblebee jolted immediately, pressing flush against Megatron for an instant and then pushing as deep into the floor as he could, trying to run from this. It just all burnt; arrays of emotions and instincts and fears racketed throughout him and battled for the forefront. 

Megatron’s EM field pulsed and banged at his frame, creeping through the cracks and echoing into his mind. It was sour with a dark pleasure and sweet with lust, a sickeningly saccharine poison that weighed heavy against his glossa.

And the heat… Primus, the warlord was rocking their plating together, and the friction rested heavily on Bumblebee’s modesty panel. It slowly crawled to his valve, where his overly sensitive nerves lapped up the calefaction like a starved creature.

_You can end this now, scout._

He shoved the thought away and bared his denta and glared at the ceiling. 

Something hot and soft and wet laved at the bite mark on his wing – a glossa, he realized. It sent bolts of that devastating heat from his helm to his pedes and – 

For Primus’ sake, there was the severed head of one of his best friend’s right there and his body was getting _aroused?!_

He’d said he would take, he did, but that didn’t mean he was okay with _enjoying it_. 

The rotting pushed deeper and with it, tendrils of the fire that fed his defiance began to dissipate.

_Say the word…_

He wasn’t going to last.

Primus, he wasn’t going to last. He could stay silent, he would die a thousand times before leaking information, but – but…

This was _real_. This was reality, cold and hard, and it would break him. 

The servo hooked under his knee moved down and spread it to the side, Megatron’s palm easily covering Bumblebee’s inner thigh and fingers playing with the now completely exposed seams. 

Bumblebee jerked against it, tried to close his legs shut, but it was all in vain. Panic began to edge through his fingertips and arms. His breathing was so quick, chest heaving up and down so his body never lay still. He tried to pull his arms away from the servo that held them firmly, and the feeling of complete and utter helplessness was bearing down harder and harder until it seemed to be at war with even Megatron’s EM field.

Megatron bit him again – just hard enough to leave a dent – this time on the tip of his doorwing. It sent a shudder throughout Bumblebee’s body and his nerves sang in delight and pain and his helm slammed to the floor. He ground his denta, optics two wide moons, as a glossa snuck around the burning derma and sent pangs of pleasure straight to the weight in his abdomen. He cursed every god he knew and then prayed to them, begged them to take away this – this thing, this pleasure. 

It was consuming him from inside out, everything… just – everything…

And then a soft click reverberated straight to his audials. It was muffled; a small tone, but he heard it so distinctly. It was coming from where his panel was, and it – oh Primus. Digits fluttered over the side of his pelvis, the side where the manual lock of his interface array was. 

In some terrible confirmation, he felt his panel peel away in slow transformation. 

Megatron pulled back slowly, releasing Bumblebee’s leg and ghosting a thumb over the lips of his valve. 

Bumblebee flinched and tried to jerk away, only to be held firmly down at the hip, the warlord’s large servo easily spread to still keep a digit running up and down the valve. The touch was so light, just barely there over the outside, but burnt the scout to the pits of his abdomen.

Megatron peered at him with dimmed optics, face twisted in a small devil’s grin and his EM field pulsed, laced so thickly with pleasure. He was so close; Bumblebee could feel the breathing travel along his faceplates and neck. 

And then the warlord spoke, it was a thick and beastly purr, gravelly and so very slightly, royally fringed with static that only added to the intimacy he was forcing, “Scout,” the digit rubbed up his valve a little harder, just enough to be a solid touch, “I understand that before Vortex’s _particular_ ministrations, you had your seals.” His voice was so damned mellifluous, Bumblebee was keenly aware of the amusement and mockery hidden well behind the tone.

Yes, he’d had his seals. He was born into a war; you couldn’t get attached, lest you find a lover’s face while counting the dead. But the humiliation still burrowed deep. Flashes of memory washed over him in a moment; of Vortex shoving that _thing_ – that thing that expanded with each twist of the handle - into his valve and chuckling softly when he heard the indistinguishable pop of a seal break; of the jokes he’d made, the things he’d said, the sadistic pleasure of that little added pain… 

He glared at Megatron. He glared but he didn’t say anything, and waited for him to finish.

Megatron smirked, his eyes narrowing wickedly. “I am honored that you allow me to take something so sacred.”

Oh, the anger flared like nothing else, but Bumblebee knew what he meant. He knew the undertones – that he’d been given a choice, and this was the one he’d taken. That he’d _chosen_ this. And that he’d _chosen_ to kill his captive comrades. 

And all he could do was glare.

Megatron chuckled.

And then the digit dipped between the lips of his valve. It ran up the length, and Bumblebee felt a bolt of electricity as Megatron put a minute amount of pressure on his outer node. He kicked his legs out and jerked, a growl escaping his voicebox as he tried to run from the sensation. 

Whatever the hell this sensation was - he couldn’t define it as good or terrible or anything beyond _too much_ , something he had to get away from. 

He couldn’t do this.

_Stop._

The touches were so light, feather soft and delightful, as a digit circled that node and brushed the heat along Bumblebee’s frame – so much nicer in contrast to the attention Vortex had given that area.

His servos were released. Megatron relinquished his grasp in favor of running a servo along Bumblebee’s wing. 

It was too much. His doorwings had always been sensitive, but now in combination with the continual saccharine stimulation along his outer node, his wings were practically on fire with every touch and stroke. He was burning alive, charring and blackening under everything – the thundering, tainted air that enveloped him, the physical feelings, the emotions, everything was melding and colliding. He was falling into a pool of utter chaos, he was drinking poisoned champagne.

He couldn’t hang on.

He couldn’t…

Hard, calloused lips grazed his own in a chaste kiss that seared him to near blindness. And then another kiss was planted on his chin, and then along his jaw, and then Megatron moved along his neck again. He nipped Bumblebee’s throat, causing the scout to automatically shiver.

He fell apart.

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t talk – he held no illusion that the Decepticons would release him or keep him alive – and, he realized, he did not believe he would ever be rescued. He was going to die in here. He could fall into the chaos, and that was okay…

_…Right?_

It hurt and it burnt and it felt so good and so bad. It was just so _intense_.

And this time, this time he knew what it was to be in the nothing. To be held hostage by things that weren’t his own, to fall apart and simply _be_ in sweet dissociation.

He shut his optics and felt as the mouth traveled down, down, along his abdomen, grazed and caressed sensitive derma in a twisted mockery of love. His body stiffened when Megatron reached his pelvic plating, bare protoform gleaming in vacant light, and his systems roared in meanings he did not translate. 

Sharp denta scraped along the joint between body and legs, and Bumblebee kicked under the overwhelming sensation. A glossa snaked out and he writhed. And while the ministrations continued along his inner thigh, that digit was rubbing along his node, movements slowly becoming more and more insistent.

He drowned in the sensations until it all melded and he could not tell one from another. His body moved on its own and his mind retreated to the farthest corners from reality. He squirmed under the ministrations, ventilations shallow and quick.

And then a digit penetrated him. It was a slow and careful descending that had Bumblebee completely frozen.

Were it a different situation, were he with a lover and friend, Bumblebee would’ve wished to explore the sensation, the newness of it all. How it stung and built an odd pressure and how his systems continuously translated it as _good_ and _pleasurable._ But at that moment, all he wanted was for the intrusion to get out. And his nerves sang in delight.

His optics shot open again, and he stared up at nothing in particular- every image and detail of the ceiling burning into his optics as he cataloged none of it.

_Say the word…_

And it was inside - _inside_ of him. It was as if Megatron were reaching for his very spark.

Then it started thrusting. It dragged along sensory nodes Bumblebee didn’t even know existed and it burnt so good. His spark twisted and thundered in its casing, threatening to tear through his chest.

Megatron kissed his mouth. Not chaste like before, he was possessive and animalistic. Denta nipped at Bumblebee’s lower lip and grazed pieces of him that sang in delight and simply fed the fire of his arousal. Everything, every touch on every piece of his body was on fire, so much more sensitive. 

Another finger was added to his valve, and though it stung and stretched, it felt so damned good, and so damned intense. He never knew it was even possible to feel like this without shorting out.

Those digits crooked and stroked something in his valve and everything stopped for a crack in time, panic and thought alike. Secular sensation overtook him momentarily in neither pleasure nor pain. It was just too much.

Bumblebee’s mouth flew open but no sound escaped him and his helm slammed into the ground. The opportunity was immediately taken and a glossa slid into his mouth, finding his own and tangling them together.

It was too much. The scout was drowning. 

Those fingers that were thrusting in and out of him, massaging and pushing into that spot over and over again, the glossa and the nips, and the claws that scraped along his doorwing, it all entwined and tangled together in a filthy and unholy inferno that left him completely vulnerable and naked in the worst of ways.

A third digit was added, and this time, Bumblebee could not stop the noise that escaped him. It was a high pitched whine, weak and needy and terrified, raw and unadulterated like some wounded animal. Mortification and humiliation pulsed through his fuel lines and his servos scraped at the ground. 

“Ah,” Megatron broke the kiss, lingering above Bumblebee’s faceplates with the smallest of sadistic smiles. His helm tilted to hover just over the scout’s audials, lips murmuring against the derma. His voice was a quiet thunder, a deep and rumbling whisper, “Such a poor and needy thing.” His fingers thrust directly into Bumblebee’s ceiling node, and a sharp breath ground through the scout’s denta, “Do you wish to end this?” 

Bumblebee did not reply. He could feel his arms and legs shake involuntarily, could feel that cold, cold ground begin to warm from his overheated frame. He wanted to scream against it, beg and beg for this to stop, but no sound escaped.

“Such a defiant creature,” Claws pinched his doorwing and his hips jerked despite himself, “To defy even your own body’s wishes,” And then the digits slipped slowly from his valve. He clenched on nothing and Bumblebee felt the wetness of lubricants trickle down his protoform in the stead of the caresses.

He could hear Megatron grin, hear his lips part in a devil’s smile against his audial. And then he heard every tone, every level of intimacy in his next whisper, “I would have you no other way.” 

And then Bumblebee heard a click. He knew that click, it was the same as when his panel had… Oh Primus, No. 

Optics flared to two wide moons, Bumblebee raised his head to look down, but before he could see anything, Megatron meshed their mouth’s together and his helm was pushed back.

His apprehensions were confirmed when something blunt and hot spread the lips of his valve.

This was happening. This was really happening.

He twisted and pushed against the mech on top of him, if only to prolong the inevitable. But all his struggling did was draw a pleasured growl from Megatron.

He froze; his whole body pulled taut. He couldn’t do anything. 

He would take it. He would take it he would take it he would take it – 

An entirely all consuming burning sensation flushed through Bumblebee when Megatron’s spike entered him. Calipers stretching to the very max, the intrusion was so slow, so terribly slow. Every segment, every movement was felt and it made Bumblebee’s body sing and cringe and cry and dance. It was too much. Far too much.

His valve clenched automatically and he could only barely muffle the sob that tore through his volcalizer.

After a moment Megatron pulled out almost all the way, and then pushed back in a little deeper.

It was like he was stroking every piece of Bumblebee, gripping at his spark and nudging at his intakes, pulling every emotion from him and stripping away every piece of armor until he was left bare. 

It was all secular and yet it was completely ecclesiastical.

By the fourth thrust, their pelvic plating touched, and Bumblebee felt a wave of nausea as the implications took hold. The warlord stilled, waiting for the scout to adjust. 

Bumblebee could hear each and every heavy breath that seared along his derma. Megatron nipped his bottom lip again before moving down and nudging against his neck. His EM field flared and cracked, coiled around Bumblebee and reaching every nook and cranny, leaving nothing untouched as it seemed to scream with lust and pleasure and other things that the Autobot could not make out. “You feel,” He growled, voice deeper and fringed with static, nearly reverent, “Delightful.”

The words tore Bumblebee apart a little more. He felt as though he would purge his tanks at any moment, and yet he felt as sated and starved as some weakened beast. He hated it, he hated it all. This, _this_ , he hated to admit it – this was the most intimate he’d been with anyone, and it breached his barriers and poured the rotting and decay into his very core. 

Megatron shifted. It was a small movement, but it ignited Bumblebee’s arousal as if it hadn’t been present at all. Sensitized nodes sang in unholy chorus and he could feel a soft trail of lubrication spill along his plating. His vents were heavy and his body was writhing small movements on its own.

And then the thrusting truly started. It was a slow and steady pace that dragged along every node, caressed every fiber and ounce, and had Bumblebee’s mind and body completely split; in and out and in and out, horror and delight, disgust and pleasure, hatred and need.

It was too much, Primus, it was too intense. The sensations scraped along his chassis in electric charges, it made him forcefully offline his optics, and it made him completely and utterly helpless.

Megatron bit his neck, a small sting only adding to the arousal, causing his valve to clench and flutter again. He cried out as the movement only excited his body more. 

Another bite, and Bumblebee bit down on his lip to mute any noise. His frame rocked in tandem with each thrust, slow but forceful, allowing him to feel each and every sensation and leaving him on the brink of… of something. 

All he knew was this intensity, this thing he did not know.

Everything started to entwine once again into a singular thing, a blur of pain and pleasure. Each ministration simply dragged, simply was, and his entire being was forced into this eternal moment. 

And then… there was a shift in position or angle or something. When Megatron thrusted again, the spike pushed directly into that one node, that spot that felt so good in ways he hated. Still so terribly slow, the pressure was gradual, so very gradual, and Bumblebee jerked and writhed and his denta clenched hard enough that he vaguely registered energon trickle down his chin.

“Nh-Nnm,” He barely registered the shaky moan until a few moments later, and the humiliation ran thick. Primus, he was… he really was…

He shut away the thought before it could do any more damage.

He just wanted this to end, wanted whatever the hell was waiting just a breadth away to happen so this could end.

A mouth ran along the side of his neck, drawing feelings, stroking burns, and singing despair. 

“Do you wish for this to end, scout?”

Yes. Yes he did. He wanted so desperately for this to end. But he didn’t speak. He bit back every cry, every word that thundered through him past the overwhelming sensations and didn’t speak.

It was just all blurring. Time and thought, everything. He floated in this intensity, drowned in the chaos of it all. It was probably only for a few klicks, but it truly did feel like eternity. He could not stop every sound that pushed at his throat, and a muffled sob would tear past his denta here and there, laced with whines and gasps. 

It was completely endless.

The spike dragged along every sensor, slammed into that spot and made his processor stall and slow and it was too much… he was being violated, tarnished, claimed.

A piece of him wondered if this was simply for Megatron’s pleasure or just another form of torture.

Most of him was consumed by the sensations of the moment.

And then… and then he came undone. 

He didn’t know how to even comprehend it. His circuits whited out and everything stopped, his frame tightened and Bumblebee arched until he was bodily pressed into the mech above him, and all he felt was pleasure, his whole world was pleasure on a different plain. Some clinical voice in the back of his mind identified it as an overload, but he didn’t care. Time stopped, and, for a moment, there was bliss.

It was only for a moment.

Then it all came tumbling down. 

It was worse than before, his nerves were utterly over-sensitized. That spike was still thrusting in and out of him, and each node and nerve was dragged on the edge of incomprehensible pain and overwhelming pleasure.

Bumblebee wanted to scream and tear away from it all, he wanted to run, and yet… he so deliriously wanted it. And with that one thought, that one realization, he felt the last remnants of untouched life, the last cracks and corners unaffected, shroud itself in decay.

A smaller overload ripped through him, and this time, there was no trace of bliss. Only pain and pleasure and the ungodly pressure in his abdomen was finally lifted as the last traces of arousal left him.

Optics still shut and audials ringing near static, he could only feel, and it thundered against his chest as Megatron sheathed himself into Bumblebee one last time and overloaded. Hot transfluid shot into him with a large electric charge that bordered on painful. It was the last sear, an invisible laceration that crumbled inside Bumblebee.

He felt ungodly, filthy, disgusting. He felt nothing. He was buried inside the nothing.

His processor vaguely registered Megatron pull out of him, leaving a trail of lukewarm liquid to course down his thighs. He barely noticed the warlord say something and then the whirring of his cell door. There was a pool of light that made his optics hurt and his tanks churn. And then it closed and he was alone.

Alone. Except for…

Optics onlining, Bumblebee numbly looked to the side. And there it was, there _he_ was, Jazz and his black optics.

His friend had witnessed the terrible things, had seen him writhe and moan like some cheap buymech. 

It was strange how self loathing could easily pierce the nothing. 

Bumblebee stirred, and the transfluid trickled out some and sloshed inside him. It made him feel dirty, unholy, mutilated. With another cringe, he pulled his legs under him and slowly reached out. 

Jazz’s head was cold to the touch, and his servo dragged along the faceplates in a lazy slowness. The energon was sticky and thick in its age, hardly glowing at all. Still, it was much less disgusting than the mess between his legs.

Slowly, Bumble turned over onto his side and pulled the head to his chest. He clutched it like it was his only lifeline, felt the metal dent under the ferocity of his grip. 

He offlined his optics and curled around Jazz. And rasped out the only thing he could think of, the only thing that mattered. 

“I’m sorry.”

And with that, he let go. He embraced the nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think I've disembarked with pretty much all my Catholic Shame. 
> 
> Anyways, now that I've just desecrated TFP's cute object, here's a video of cute kittens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtRRUEs3o0c
> 
> There's give or take two more chapters left.


	4. Awakening Slowly

_“I just know there's no escape_  
_Now once it sets its eyes on you_  
_But I won't run,_  
_Have to stare it in the eye_

_Stand my ground, I won't give in_  
_No more denying, I've got to face it_  
_Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside”_

     -Within Temptation, “Stand My Ground”

 

* * *

 

Megatron stepped out of the prison cell with searing optics and a wild rage that dug into the sway of his arms and the snarl on his lips. His EM field seemed to roar and whisper in tandem as it was pulled so very tightly to his person. 

The guards flinched and did not move. 

From behind him, the tattering of steps echoed and occupied the silence; Starscream approached, unaware of the warlord’s current disposition, his wings arched and his fingers tapping together. 

“My Lord Megatron,” He began, voice coached as though relaying a practiced script, yet still betraying a lace of anger and frustration. “I understand that it is not my position to ask these things, but this is highly uncharacteristic, and if I might question the validity of your actions-“ 

Megatron’s servos clenched to fists as a growl crescendoed to a beastly roar in interruption. He whipped around and struck the seeker with unadulterated force, sending the small frame flying. Starscream slammed against the wall with the hideous screech of metal. 

_“Silence!”_

Trembling and looking up with ruby optics widened to orbs, Starscream watched Megatron approach him with a smooth and violent gait. 

The warlord’s helm tilted and his optics were wide and menacing, teeth bared and anger leaking through every edge of his being. “You try my patience, Starscream.” He growled, “Unless you wish to end up like our prisoner, I would hold my tongue if I were you.” 

With that, he turned and left. 

 

* * *

 

Bumblebee could feel the energon ooze onto his fingers and trickle down his servos. It was lukewarm and lifeless, sticking into small joints and holding his hands to clutch against Jazz. 

He didn’t move. The mess between the scout’s legs was drying, clumping and clinging to his thighs - keeping him still, lest the liquid taint more of him. 

With a small breath, he shut his optics and clutched the head even harder until a new bead of lukewarm energon escaped dented derma and dripped to the ground. And deeper and deeper, his mind reeled, turning and fading from reality in soft waves. 

* * *

_“You’ve_ never _had high-grade before?”_

_Bumblebee rubbed the back of his neck and peeked up at the Autobot regarding him. Hot Rod, right his name was Hot Rod. The bright flames painted across his chassis were hint enough._

_“Well, no.” Bumblebee replied. He looked across the mess hall to his destination. Catching Cliffjumper’s optics, the scout gave him a pleading stare, to which the red bot simply shrugged with a lopsided smile. With a huff, Bumblebee crossed his arms and turned back to Hot Rod. “I haven’t exactly had the_ time. _”_

_Arms akimbo, Hot Rod flashed a grin, “Well you have the time now, don’tcha think?”_

_Bumblebee opened his mouth to respond, but before he could make a sound, the Autobot grabbed his arm and pulled him away. Dumbfounded, he tried to keep the fast pace as he was mostly dragged to a keg._

_“C’mon, the high-grade’s pretty good for being for cannon fodder like us.” Hot Rod relinquished his grasp and started filling a cube. And Bumblebee watched as it splashed about, a deeper azure hue than the rations he was used to._

_Withdrawing it, Hot Rod handed a full cube to Bumblebee and then turned back to fill another one._

_Bumblebee cleared his intake and stared at the high-grade for a moment before looking back to the probably already drunk mech. “Are you seriously trying to get me drunk?”_

_The Autobot glanced at him for a nanoklick before switching off the keg and turning to face him completely, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Why not?”_

_“We’re being deployed for combat tomorrow morning.”_

_“So?” Hot Rod took a gulp of energon._

_Bumblebee let out a breath, “So I don’t feel like fighting with a hangover.”_

_“C’mon bug, we’re always on the battlefield.” Hot Rod leaned down patted the top of his helm, “Besides, it’s just an escort, chances are all we’re gonna get is fisticuffs with low level ‘cons.”_

_Bumblebee raised a brow, half tempted to simply pour out the engex in his hands right then and there._

_With a huff, Hot Rod simply tipped his head back and downed the majority of his cube’s contents. He looked back down with a smirk and wiped off his mouth. “Lighten up a bit. You don’t have to get wasted or anything. Just one cube and that’s it. I mean, what if you die tomorrow, then you’ll never get to try high-grade.”_

_Despite himself, Bumblebee felt his mouth quirking, and he relented with a sigh. Ever so tentatively, he lifted the stuff to his lips and took a quick swig._

_“There you go!”_

_It tasted awful. Just this thick and massive concentration that left a bitterness on his glossa. His face contorted as he forced himself to swallow. It went down slowly, with a warmth that only partially settled the nauseating taste. His mouth tipped, Bumblebee looked up at Hot Rod, “That was disgusting.”_

_The Autobot let out a whoop and raised his glass, a grin splitting his face and baring white denta, “But it makes you feel sooo good.”_

_With that, Hot Rod trotted away and clambered onto the nearest table, pedes knocking down someone’s drink in the process. He received in equal amounts shouts and whistles from the table’s occupants. They scooted back as he stood, drink in hand._

_“Here’s one everybody knows!” Hot Rod bellowed. The mess hall quieted slightly, a steady murmur still in place. A crowd of optics peered at him, waiting for… well, honestly, waiting for him to fall._

_Bumblebee laughed when Hot Rod began humming an old tune, familiar as the rain of artillery. His lips moved before he started truly singing, letting out a drunken melody. His voice was completely out of tune, more of a melodic shout than singing._

_There were some whoops and bellows, but most simply joined in. It was a dissonant chorus that drew laughter and small smiles from even the most morose of the soldiers._

“Wash your blades and rust away…” 

_Bumblebee joined in a little late. He sang and drank despite the foul taste, letting himself drown in simple camaraderie._

_He finally left to his destination and took a seat by Cliffjumper._

_The hall was alive with the song by then. No one really knew what the song was about or where it came from, but that didn’t matter. It was the feeling of victory, of hope, amidst endless war that made this song so loved. Everyone knew at least a little bit._

_Some stopped at the third verse, others at the fourth or fifth, forgetting the lyrics in a drunken state or never learning them to begin with._

_By the seventh verse, only a handful of mechs still sang. Hot Rod lead with a loud and obnoxious voice, a wide smile on his face and his cube spilling here and there as he moved about dramatically._

“And the audience will sing of the one, the only…” 

_Bumblebee got up to get a second serving of high-grade, and he listened as the melody slowly died down to the lips of the last few mechs, until Hot Rod’s voice came unaccompanied as he sang the last few words._

_And then everything deafened with a ringing in his ears._

* * *

Bumblebee hadn’t fallen asleep, not completely.

He merely resided in the nothingness. Time and thought, it did not matter. The world was too cruel for him to remain cognitive. Instead he regressed; he corroded and stared unblinking, registering nothing.

It was all a blur, all except for his anchor, his friend. He clutched to his lifeline and felt his fingers lock from strain and Jazz’s faceplates bend against his grip. 

When the lights flickered on, the scout curled further in on himself, his protoform tightening as his processor throbbed. It was blinding at first; he’d been in the dark for so long, it just all looked like a sheet of white in comparison. 

And slowly, so very slowly, he woke up. 

It took a while to adjust, but finally Bumblebee was able to blink and gaze around with only a minimal headache. He pushed against the ground and lifted himself up slightly. The movement made his fingers slip, his grasp weaken, and Jazz rolled from his servos and onto the floor. 

Alarm tore through his fuel lines at first. But as he watched the head loll from side to side as it slowed, the fervor faded to a sickly pit in his abdomen. 

Jazz was so much more detailed with the cell lights on; the slack mouth and the lifeless optics, they burned into him - but the cracked and broken derma, where Bumblebee could see the indents his servos had left, the energon that slid between cuts that hadn’t been there before… if he’d had anything in his tanks, Bumblebee would’ve purged them. 

As it was, his servos simply slid from his purchase on the ground and Bumblebee collapsed again. He pulled his forearm in and buried his face in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t look at – at _that_ , the desecration he’d caused in a small fit of madness. 

There was something wrong with him. There had to be.

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t even registered the cell door open. 

Something – someone nudged his shoulder. He flinched but didn’t look up, didn’t move at all. For the life of him, he couldn’t care. The worst had been done. There was nothing else he could do. 

“Hey ‘bot.” 

That voice… Bumblebee turned and looked up, finding himself face to face with Vortex. The Decepticon was hovering dangerously close, his masked face gleaming with the hints of a grin. It was… Bumblebee never knew he would actually be relieved to see this one. 

“Gotta say thanks,” Vortex sat down next to him, his EM field brushing against the scout’s in laziness. “You won me a nice stash of quality high grade.” 

When Bumblebee didn’t respond, the combaticon let out a heavy breath and pulled two energon cubes from his subspace. He leaned back and held one out to him. 

There was a small voice in the back of the scout’s mind that made him hesitate – he knew Vortex well enough, knew that unlike Megatron, he would poison Bumblebee’s drink just to watch him writhe. But, he realized, he didn’t care.

“C’mon, I know you’re hungry.” 

Numbly, Bumblebee sat himself up. The mess between his legs clung to his thighs and was thick and sticky when they rubbed together. He cringed at the feel and kept his gaze down as he shifted with trembling limbs. Finally, he met Vortex’s optics with a steady stare and took the cube from him. 

“So,” Vortex started when Bumblebee took a drink, waving a servo, “Like I was saying, high grade. A while ago me an’ Swindle made this bet. We were drunk and guessing who got off on what, and me, being well,” He took a swig of his own energon cube and made a wide gesture to himself, “Me, bet that Roadblock got a hard on for rape.” 

Bumblebee took a sip and glanced at the ground. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t want to think about it. 

“One way or another, the conversation got pretty heated, and Swindle finally bet his best high grade that he didn’t.” He chuckled and patted Bumblebee on the shoulder, “You should’ve seen their faces, ‘bot,” The smirk was easily entwined in his voice when he looked down at the scout, optics gleaming, “When we were watching the video feed of Megatron fragging your brains out. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Roadblock just started self-servicing right there and then.” 

Were he not already hollow, Bumblebee would’ve been angry. Maybe he would’ve been humiliated and shamed as well at the prospect that people had been _watching._ But he wasn’t. The rotting simply pushed a little deeper as he drowned in nothingness. 

Vortex leaned in, like he was going to tell Bumblebee some secret. “Then again, you seemed to be enjoying yourself quite a bit. Maybe it wasn’t rape, huh? I think a wholesome little Autobot like you just doesn’t want to admit that you _love_ getting spiked by the big bad Megatron. I bet you even like the idea that people were watching.” 

Something flared inside the Autobot, something that whispered against his fingertips and eased at his spark. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. He simply stared at the ground and held the cube of energon. 

“You won’t deny it? I guess you really are a slut,” Vortex reached out and trailed a digit along Bumblebee’s jaw. 

Bumblebee flinched and turned his helm away. 

At that, Vortex grabbed his jaw and yanked, forcing him to look at him, “If I asked, would you suck my spike? Or do you only save that for Megatron?” 

Bumblebee did nothing. 

A moment of silence passed. 

Finally, Vortex relinquished his grasp viciously with a frustrated growl. Violence strayed into his EM field as he moved to loom over Bumblebee. 

He was nowhere near as intimidating as Megatron. And for that, Bumblebee was grateful of Vortex. 

“Nothing? You fragging glitch, you think you’re _better than me, huh?”_ Vortex growled. “They said I couldn’t leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you do a little something,” He tossed his cube of energon to the side, and smacked Bumblebee’s out of his hands. 

Bumblebee watched as it skidded along the floor and spilt in a luminescent pool. 

And then a servo grabbed the back of his helm, claws dug into his derma hard enough to dent and sent bolts of pain through his body. The servo pushed Bumblebee’s head down – down towards Vortex’s panel. 

His optics widened as he was forced to watch it transform away and the combaticon’s spike pressurize. Vortex pushed him further down, tried to get him to… Primus no. 

Whatever had flared in the scout before erupted now, it pulsed through him and enveloped him. It was like a waking call. It fed his instincts and urged him to _fight_ and keep on fighting, to get away. It gave him, even if for a moment, vitativeness. 

Immediately, in a sheen of fury and denta bared in a snarl, Bumblebee fought against Vortex, fought against every inch and tried to pull away. 

Vortex relished in this new vitality. He let out a laugh and pushed harder, “There you go, just like that,” He said, “Now open your mouth.” He brought his other servo up and pulled at Bumblebee’s jaw painfully, forcing his oral cavity open. 

And Primus, he was too weak, no matter how much he struggled, it was inevitable. With one final thrust from Vortex, his mouth involuntarily engulfed the Decepticon’s spike. It was disgusting, absolutely disgusting, with a thick and musky flavor that stuck to the back of his throat and made him gag and… 

And the rotting began to return. 

“Ah, yeah, just like that.” Vortex let out a groan, “I know you like the taste.” 

Still he fought.

And Vortex relished in all of it. The combaticon began bobbing Bumblebee’s helm up and down, easily overpowering him. 

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but finally, something broke the moment. Bumblebee barely, so very vaguely, registered the whir of the cell door opening. 

And then that all too familiar beastly voice sounded. “Vortex.” 

The combaticon immediately stilled, the servos holding Bumblebee stiffened. And though Bumblebee couldn’t see anything beyond pelvic armor, the threat was unmistakable. 

When Megatron spoke again, it was menacing and smooth, speaking of more than mere violence, “Leave my sight before I decide you would be better suited as a corpse.”

With a disgruntled noise, Vortex pushed Bumblebee away with enough force that the scout skidded slightly across the floor, the high pitched whine of metal on metal displacing the silence momentarily. 

Deftly, Bumblebee pushed himself up to sit and watched the Decepticon leave. 

It was almost comical, how quickly Vortex fled. But he did not think on it, his mind still attempting to process what had happened. 

Instead, Bumblebee stared into eerie vermillion optics and felt the decay and nothingness stalk at the edges of his mind.

Megatron entered the cell. The door slid shut behind him, but in the light of the room, Bumblebee could see him more clearly than he ever had before. Megatron walked forward and knelt in front of the scout, and Bumblebee numbly took in the details of features he’d only seen the outline of. 

So this was the monster that had tarnished him. 

Nothing was betrayed in Megatron’s optics, and his field flowed in cadence and flooded into Bumblebee’s senses. It was different from before, the same presence and the same intensity that belied any emotion, but somehow smoother, softer - malignant and yet completely benign. 

Megatron leaned in closer, and tendrils of fear pulsed alongside Bumblebee’s spark. 

A talon grazed along the side of his helm almost lovingly before Megatron placed a slow and chaste kiss on Bumblebee’s lips. 

And the rotting began to seep a little deeper once again. 

Megatron pulled away and petted the side of Bumblebee’s helm, raising his other servo to run along his jaw, digits lingering on his chin and tilting his helm up slightly to look at the warlord. There were no traces of a devil’s grin, no traces of any sadistic pleasure Bumblebee had seen on his face for the past few… He didn’t know how long it had been. 

“Such a poor thing,” Megatron purred. Hooking a digit under Bumblebee’s chin, he pulled the scout forward and leaned in so that the scout could almost feel sharp denta on his audial. “You bring this upon yourself, scout,” It was a near whisper, a rich and rasping voice. “I cannot grant you salvation if you do not impart the information.” 

And Bumblebee believed him. He believed every word. He was too tired differentiate truth from lies, to question anything, too tired to truly remember exactly why he was supposed to stay silent. To endure this… 

But he had to. Primus, he _had to endure this_ for… for his comrades, right? 

No, that wasn’t right, his comrades were going to die. He had to do this to save the Allspark… right? 

“Say the word,” He could feel hard lips pass ever so slightly over his audial, it sent a cold tingling throughout his frame. “And you will be free.” 

Megatron released Bumblebee and slid backwards. He stood with regal grace and turned and left the little cell without another glance or word. 

When the door slid shut once again and the scout was left alone, he numbly looked to the side. 

Jazz looked discarded, forgotten, his helm dented and dirty on the floor and his optics staring blankly at the ceiling. 

His only lifeline… 

It came in a slow realization - a soft wave - that Bumblebee finally understood; ever so softly, ever so slowly, he was slipping away from the nothing. 

 

* * *

 

Bumblebee did not recognize the first two mechs that entered his cell. They stopped on either side of the doorway, a seeker and a grounder, staring straight at him with near blank expressions. But all that mattered was the Decepticon insignia’s they sported. That was it. 

He recognized the third immediately, though he did not know his designation. He shared the same frame, the same face, as someone Bumblebee had killed long ago – one of the only terminations he’d ever learnt to regret. 

The third was almost as small as a sparkling, the others towering over him, with near completely purple armor and a pair of energon cuffs dangling from a tightly clenched fist. A frown construed a face that would’ve been child-like, impish and cherubic, were it not for the scars that faintly crossed derma and battle-hardened optics. He walked up to Bumblebee and glared down at him. 

“On your feet, ‘bot.” 

Bumblebee had never thought he’d see that face again. He opened his mouth, speaking silence before saying, “You-“ 

The little mech kicked him in the abdomen. Hard. “I said get up.” 

The anger that flowed through Bumblebee came as a surprise, one he did not welcome. He looked down at the floor and the fury ebbed. 

He did not move. 

The Decepticon let out a frustrated noise and turned to the two at the door. “Get this fragger standing.” 

They obeyed immediately, and Bumblebee did not fight when they grabbed under his arms and yanked him up painfully. The little Decepticon grabbed his wrists and clicked the cuffs to one. “You remember him, don’t you?” He hissed and then he latched Bumblebee’s other wrist. “Good.” 

With that, he turned and walked out the cell. 

The two guards pushed Bumblebee forward, a servo on each arm. 

He was marched out of that little room for the first time in orns. They led him down a hall, following the little mech through corridor after corridor. 

And suddenly the world seemed larger. Suddenly, his entire universe was not simply a prison cell and a severed head.

Bumblebee watched the Decepticon that stayed a few paces ahead. Even his back seemed a paradoxical mixture of a battle hardened warrior and a child. He remembered the only time that he saw this one and his twin, he remembered that neither had seemed so scarred. They had been wide eyed and feisty, ferocious and unmerciful children. 

Occasionally, they would pass other soldiers. Red optics would pause and stare at him as he was marched forward with a stagnant air. And it was almost as though he were being led to his execution. 

But that was too kind a fate for it to be real. 

After what felt like joors, they turned and stopped in front of an inconspicuous door. The little mech entered something on the entry pad, and it whirred open and they entered… And… 

It was… Bumblebee blinked. It was a private wash racks. 

The seeker guard moved away from him and turned the shower nozzle on. Steaming liquid shot out in a continuous spray, white noise interrupting every sound. “C’mon, bug,” He said. 

The scout paused. 

The Decepticon let out a scoff. And from the corner of his eye, Bumblebee saw the little mech roll his optics and cross his arms. 

“Yeah, I know that look. It says _‘what the hell is going on?’”_ He said. “What’s going on ‘bot,” He grabbed Bumblebee’s arm and nudged him towards the spray of cleanser, “Is that you’re getting a shower ‘cause Megatron said so.” When the two guards took his place in moving Bumblebee towards the shower, he leaned against the wall with crossed arms with a solid glare. 

Numbly, Bumblebee let himself be led to stand under the liquid. It was hot and surprisingly nice and rose off his derma in small plumes of steam. 

It was completely surreal; like a dream that Bumblebee would awaken from at any minute. 

He looked down at the ground and watched as the tainted cleanser disappeared into the drain. Somehow, even rinsing under cleanser, he didn’t feel any less dirty. 

His body automatically stiffened when they began scrubbing him, the two guards; all along his shoulders and arms. He watched the suds go down the drain and felt the bristles of brushes. 

“I volunteered for this job,” The small Decepticon suddenly spoke up again. “They were just going to send some nobody who’d never even seen you to do this, but I volunteered.” 

Bumblebee didn’t look up. 

“Do you know why I volunteered for such an insignificant and menial job?” He pushed himself from the wall and Bumblebee watched as his pedes came into view as he stood right in front of the scout. A small digit pushed at his chest, and he could feel the little one’s metallic gaze. 

Still, Bumblebee kept his optics on the ground. 

“I volunteered so that I could look you in the eye before they decide to terminate you and tell you that you deserve all of this. You killed my brother out of cold-blood and for that you deserve everything done to you.” 

And Bumblebee believed it, he realized. He believed every word. 

One of the guards paused, and Bumblebee vaguely registered him glance up. “Rumble,” The grounder almost whispered it. He spoke in a thick and soft voice. “Hey, Rumble you can tell him anything you want but… I don’t think there’s anyone home.” 

There was a moment of silence, viscous and vibrant with unspoken words.

“Look at his optics,” The guard said. “Empty.” 

Rumble sneered, a small growl bearing past ground denta. He pulled back forcefully and returned to his perch on the wall, arms crossed once again and still as a statue. 

With that, the guard returned to scrubbing and the seeker grabbed Bumblebee’s chin. He pulled his jaw up and stared straight into the scout’s optics. After a moment, his mouth quirked. 

“Hey, you’re right.” He poked Bumblebee’s helm, “It’s like he’s alive, but dead on the inside. Like a drone or something.” 

And then he released Bumblebee, returning to his task. He ran the bristles along Bumblebee’s chest a little too harshly, and the scout flinched when he scrubbed over one of the still fresh welds.

“So,” The seeker started absentmindedly, “Word of mouth is that the big boss has been acting a little nutty lately.” 

“Oh, really?” The other guard said, “And how’s that, Skycharge?” 

“Other than his jizz between this guys' legs or ordering his prisoners be shiny and pretty?” 

Bumblebee flinched. 

The guard stiffened, “What?” He said. 

“Yup, I heard it from Onslaught.” 

“Hey, _shut up._ ” Rumble hissed, “They’re probably listening in.” 

At that, the grounder immediately resumed his silent work, lifting Bumblebee’s arms and scrubbing his sides more intensely. Skycharge, on the other hand let out a scoff. 

“And since when has that stopped you?” 

“Since Megatron _threatened my life._ ” 

“Heh,” With one last scrub along Bumblebee’s abdomen, he stood back and looked at the scout, hands on his hips. “Okay bug, sit down and spread your legs, I gotta get to the love liquid.” 

Bumblebee blinked and finally looked up. His spark pulsed indignantly and he didn’t move.

“It’s okay,” Skycharge shifted his weight and put both servos on Bumblebee’s shoulders, pushing down. “Unless you don’t like suds down there that is.” 

Numbly, deftly, Bumblebee obeyed. 

For the most part, the guards worked in silence after that. They scrubbed and cleaned every inch of him and when they were done, they marched him back and dumped him into his little cell. 

“Remember Frenzy,” Rumble said at the doorway, “When there’s a gun pointed between your optics instead.” With that final piece spoken, they left. 

Alone in his cell, the handcuffs gone, Bumblebee looked around. The lights were off again and Jazz was gone. 

This was all so surreal, like a dream. He could only hope that he would wake up soon.

 

* * *

 

Bumblebee had been sitting against the wall, curled in on himself, his arms resting on raised knees, when the telltale beeping surfaced him from his mind. 

He peeked up as the door opened, a pool of light casting just out of his reach, and the familiar silhouette of Megatron peered down at him. 

With one languid step and then another, the warlord entered the room. The door slid shut once again with a soft whirring, and wine red optics shrouded his faceplates with vermillion light. 

Before he had felt fear, anger, defiance, or dread, in the presence of this mech. Now, though, Bumblebee realized he felt nothing of the sort. He did not know what he felt, what any of the torrent undercurrents of his mind were. 

Megatron approached him, his EM field washing into Bumblebee’s sensors in that same intensity, that same overwhelming presence, the same whisper of _lust._ And from it, Bumblebee was pulled out of sweet dissociation. 

The smallest inklings of dread began to build up in him, weigh a little heavier and heavier until it was something tangible when the Decepticon lord stopped right in front of him. 

“Scout,” Megatron lilted, his voice a thick and resonant thunder, “Do you wish for me to take you again?” 

Bumblebee shook his helm. 

Kneeling, looming, a silver knee rested next to Bumblebee, and Megatron’s frame all but enveloped him. A large servo rested on his forearm, and Megatron leaned forward. He wore the smallest of grins, a devilish expression searing into dimmed optics as he tilted his helm and spoke against the Bumblebee’s mouth, “Then tell me what I wish to know.” 

Sharp denta nipped the scout’s bottom lip. His arm was pulled back out of the way and he stiffened. 

Was he really…? 

Primus, he couldn’t take it again. 

Digits ran along Bumblebee’s jaw and then tilted his helm up. He could feel his sparkbeat quicken, his fuel lines pulse, and the dread twine with his protoform. 

“A few words,” Megatron kissed down his jaw and put a servo on his chest. “And you will be free. Your comrades will be free.” He pushed Bumblebee so very gently – pressed the scout to the wall and uncurled his legs. 

Bumblebee’s optics widened to two moons and his fingers flexed and curled to fists, his chest beginning to heave. 

A glossa flicked over his audial and minute warmth spread through his protoform. He felt exposed, vulnerable to the ministrations, trapped. 

Megatron moved down slightly, breath ghosting against Bumblebee’s neck. A servo stroked his doorwing, passed over the tip and ran down the sensitive derma. It made him shudder and the worst of fears flash through him. 

“No one will hold it against you.” 

Megatron ran a servo down Bumblebee’s abdomen, down and down, until it rest on his interface panel. The heat radiated into him, the violent proof of life seared him. 

“They never expected you to keep quiet, scout. You will be hailed as a hero for lasting this long.” 

And Bumblebee believed him. He believed it to the pits of his core and it was so damned tempting. The words, the information rested at the very tip of his glossa, burnt his throat and threatened to escape.

But he had to stay quiet, he had to endure this. He had to… 

_You will be free._

He had to… 

Megatron started mouthing along his neck, moving downward. Denta scraped across clavicle armor and ignited buried sensors. A glossa sank into transformation seams and made him squirm, and that servo… Primus damnit that servo on his interface array started stroking up and down in the sweetest of motions. And the friction… 

_Say the word…_

No. 

“Do you wish for this, scout?” A small grin entwined Megatron’s voice as he leaned up and nipped Bumblebee’s trachea. Fingers turned to claws and he scratched down the scout’s panel, peeling paint and hurting so damned good and bad. “Do you, truly?” 

He had to endure this. 

_…You deserve all of this._  

For everyone, for every single Autobot, he had to endure this. The information he held, it could’ve meant the deaths of more than his captured comrades, of so many more. 

Bumblebee offlined his optics. He drew in a sharp intake when the tip of his wing was bitten. He felt the arousal course thickly, softly, through his fuel lines - heard that telltale click, felt a breeze coil around his valve as his panel was manually overridden, and he felt the fear and the terror pulse and stalk at the corners of his mind, he felt it overtake him and he let himself go. 

No matter what, he would take it. He would endure all of this. 

And then something flared.

It wasn’t physical; it was… it was just like before. Bumblebee realized, belatedly, that it was Megatron’s EM field. It seemed to both roar and whisper simultaneously in meanings he could not translate. 

The lord growled deep in his chest and bit his neck. Hard. 

Bumblebee hadn’t been expecting it, and he wasn’t able to bite back the sudden cry that escaped him. It had hurt in a pain he wasn’t quite familiar with. His optics flashed on and before he could comprehend anything, a digit penetrated him.

A droplet of energon trickled down neck cabling as slowly, the pain liquidated into pleasure. 

 

* * *

 

Megatron had not been gentle like before. And Bumblebee ached. 

There was a mess between his legs again, and a small stream of energon trickled from his valve with the lubricants and the transfluid. He stared blankly at the collection of fluids that puddled on the ground between his legs and felt the emptiness eat away at him once again. He felt sickly and mutilated, tarnished and tainted to his very core. 

But he hadn’t talked, and that was what mattered. 

He buried his face in his hands and allowed himself a moment, a single moment of mourning. 

He allowed himself to remember _why._  

And it was so damned painful. This was reality, this was war, and it burnt his core and chilled his spirit. He wished he could be back in the mess halls, back in the field beside comrades and brothers. He wished he could laugh and drink high-grade with Cliffjumper and Hot Rod and Jazz and Blurr and sing that old Cybertronian tune in dissonant quality. 

He wished none of this had ever happened.

And then that moment ended. 

Bumblebee’s spark sank as the cell door whirred open. 

He lifted his helm and closed his panel and stared, ready to meet macabre vermillion optics… only to see two guards promptly enter. They were the same ones as before, Skycharge and the grounder. 

They walked up to him, stopping on either side and pulling him up.

“On your feet, ‘bot.” The grounder said. 

He let them guide him out of his cell. And vaguely, he noted that they had no energon cuffs this time. 

It was all a blur, a somber march through corridor after corridor as others stepped aside for them, the atmosphere looming, thick and stagnant. It was all so surreal, a mesh of senses and colors. 

And then time began once again when they stopped in front of a pair of large doors. The metal parted and a thin gust of wind swept by as they stepped outside. 

It was… 

Everything was… 

Primus, the air smelt of ozone and a breeze coiled around Bumblebee’s sensory net. It was the simplest thing, but truthfully, he had all but forgotten that there was a world outside. He’d forgotten of fresh air and the hue of the sky. 

It was as though he’d been locked up for an eternity. 

His optics drank everything in hungrily, the nothingness slowly ebbing from his being. A sunrise painted the view in blues and yellows, casted shadows over tall buildings and spilt color into clouds. Spires and towers stood proudly in beautiful architecture and a chain of mountains rose to the east in purple silhouettes. 

And he felt, in the softest of waves, life ease into his fingertips and twine through his fuel lines. He felt himself so very slowly awaken. 

There was a city in the distance, alive with light pollution and aircraft silhouetted against the sky. _Helex,_ his processor identified it as – an Autobot controlled colony. 

It was breathtakingly glorious. 

But closer, his optics wandered over rubble and ash that set over the expanded plane he stood upon. Buildings stood all about in scarcity, still bright with life, though shattered and worn. He knew this place, he remembered the smoke and the battle. This was the remnants of Tyger Pax.

So the Decepticons had won this city. 

Someone shifted their pedes. 

And it was only then that Bumblebee noticed what lay immediately before him. 

Megatron stood to the side; hands clasped behind his back, and regarded the scout. Standing a ways behind him, a faceless mech stood motionless, helm facing Bumblebee’s direction. 

The two guards released him and stepped back. 

Bumblebee glanced back, watched as they pointed their guns at him. And then he looked back to Megatron. And he waited. 

Megatron bowed his helm in a single nod and gestured to the field ahead with crooked fingers. “Tell me where the Autobots are taking the Allspark, and you may leave.” He said simply. 

Bumblebee did not move, and waited. 

“Your freedom lies just out of grasp.” Megatron said, “A singular word is all you need speak, scout, and then you will have reached your salvation. But if you choose not to,” His arm fell loosely to his side and his optics narrowed in garnet whispers, sadistic and promising of things Bumblebee did not wish to think of, “You know the fate that awaits you.” 

He did. He knew exactly what would happen. And he knew he would never be granted death. 

He didn’t want to go back. He’d barely survived the torture, barely made it out sane. He couldn’t go back to that cold and dark cell and stay for an eternity, he couldn’t be torn away from the wind and the sky again. He couldn’t keep being tainted and tarnished, he couldn’t… 

Salvation, it was so close. 

Bumblebee looked back to the horizon. He watched the aircraft and the life that flourished there. He was so close… he was never further. 

It was so damn tempting, deliriously so. A single word, it would be as easy as that, a single location and then he would be welcomed home. He would be back in the mess halls and singing that song all night long. A simple answer. That was it. The temptation thrummed just under his derma and made his spark sing in his audials. 

But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. So instead, with dead optics and weak foundation, he looked up at Megatron and resigned. 

This was his fate. This would be his eternity. 

His mind screamed and begged, the dread and the terror laced his throat, but he spoke firmly, numbly. “No.” 

The lord merely nodded. “Very well,” He said. 

And Bumblebee was bracing himself for his fate, preparing himself to be led back to that little cell… when instead, Megatron beckoned to another guard, “Bring them here.” He said. 

The Decepticon turned and motioned to someone Bumblebee could not see. 

And then… Primus, it was _them._  

They were marched out in a line, legs and wrists cuffed, seared and wounded and painted with dried energon and dirty from helm to pede, Autobot prisoners. Bumblebee counted at least a dozen. 

Some had hunched shoulders and terrified optics, others walked proud and defiantly, and others still, remained dead eyed. 

Bumblebee felt his spark fall and twist. His comrades, his brothers; he knew them all by name, had drunken with them and fought alongside them for endless day and mourned with them over the fallen. He’d saved some of these mechs’ lives, some had saved his life. 

He was sending them to their deaths. 

The Autobots were set in a line in front of Bumblebee, facing him. He watched as Cloudburst looked at him with pleading optics, coolant drying in twin streams over his faceplates. He watched as Quickswitch stared ahead blankly with a furrowed brow and a raised chin. 

Someone shouted a command, but Bumblebee didn’t translate the words. Instead, he stared wide eyed as the Decepticon guards forced them to their knees. 

It was a moving sight - eerie and disturbing to see these mechs before him, laid out like objects. A guard stood behind the prisoner at the end of the line, Silverbolt, the barrel of a gun resting at the back of his helm. It was a suffocating and maddening sight that numbed Bumblebee’s sensory net. 

“This is your choice,” Megatron said, “Your cooperation was their salvation. Your silence is their death sentence.” 

“Don’t –“ Skyfall’s words disintegrated into a pained shout as a Decepticon shot him in the pede. 

Why was this all on Bumblebee? He wished he were elsewhere, he wished the peril would end, he wished he’d never volunteered to be the decoy at Tyger Pax… he wished so many damned things and he prayed more than he ever had in his life but nothing happened, nothing changed. 

Nothing would change. This was real. 

“Begin.” 

Bumblebee could hear as the weapon primed in a vicious crescendo and - 

The shot that rang through the air was more deafening than the loudest explosion. The noise tore through Bumblebee’s spark and ate at his soul. He flinched and then froze, his optics widened and he was unable to look away from the gruesome sight. 

Energon pooled down Silverbolt’s face in thick gurgles, his expression contorted in shock and wicked realization as he let out a last breath. The scout watched as his friend fell lifeless to the ground. 

And then the guard moved to the next one. 

“Will you save them, scout?” 

The gun primed. 

Bumblebee’s optics flicked over to Megatron. The lord stood astute and emotionless, completely cold as he gazed at the scout with enigmatic optics. And in a quick and undefined moment, he realized what it was to witness _evil._

But oh, he wanted so desperately, so deliriously, to save these mechs. He would say anything - do anything, to keep them from dying before his optics. 

Everything was pulled taut, waiting, as the words rested on Bumblebee’s glossa and coaxed through his fuel lines. The information burnt his throat and cried and thrashed to escape. He couldn’t take it. 

He opened his mouth and spoke silence before the words arose and… 

And then someone started humming. 

The sound grounded him immediately. Bumblebee blinked and looked to the origin of the noise. It was one of the further prisoners, with proud optics and a rich voice. Hyperion. He stared into Bumblebee’s optics and began, at first in the smallest murmurs, to sing in a dissonant and raspy tone.

It was _that_ song. 

It was the song that spoke of camaraderie and hope and victory that everyone knew…

The shot rang through the air, and Bumblebee flinched. 

But Bumblebee closed his mouth and felt his throat thicken. 

The rotting pushed deeper - deeper than it ever had before as he watched the terror construe pale blue optics, pleading to him, begging for help as the last tendrils of life left the body. And then Skyfall collapsed to the ground. A pool of luminescent blue gathered around his helm and eased into cracks. A gaping hole in the back of his helm sparked and shined, revealing the inner workings of his processor. 

Hyperion’s voice grew louder. 

_“Say your goodbyes, and bend down to pray.”_

And then the mech next to him joined in, Hot Shot; and then another and another, Topspin and Sandstorm and another and another. 

And then the next was executed, Huffer fell. 

_“Primus help us. Unicron run…”_

Bumblebee flinched and felt his servos ball into fists. 

Quickswitch began singing too, and then Cloudburst. 

It was dissonant and sung with hoarse and shaking voices, it was a beautiful and otherworldly melody, cadaverous and haunting every vibration. 

_“The one, the only, the bane of the battle…”_

The gun charged and rested against the back of Topspin’s helm. 

_“The Valiant Spark.”_

The shot rang out. 

Bumblebee fell to his knees. He felt himself reel, felt himself decay to the last thread of his being. He was killing these mechs.

But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. 

Slowly, as his sanity drew to a close and he stared into the optics of these dead men. And the melody rose to his throat. This was it. This was their final moments, their final time and their final gift. They would die together. And finally, Bumblebee let himself drown in simple camaraderie. 

_“Primus save us, Unicron run. The gladiators sneer, the battle’s begun.”_

Bumblebee joined in late, but he sang with fervor. He sang as though it were his only lifeline. He sang as though it would save these mechs’ lives. 

Another shot rang out. 

Bumblebee trembled bit back a sob. 

Hot Shot fell. 

The gun rested on the back Hyperion’s neck, and the prisoner shifted slightly. As the weapon primed, he stared into Bumblebee’s optics, his own so very crystal clear and so very morose. His eyes spoke of gratefulness and of acceptance, but more than anything, his eyes spoke of understanding.

This was their sacrifice, Bumblebee’s and the mechs’ before him. 

Hyperion closed his optics, and bowed his helm in silent regard… 

The shot rang through the air. 

And slowly, one by one, in tandem with each piercing shot of the gun, the voices diminished. Quickswitch and Sandstorm and Topspin; their final goodbye’s lost on lifeless lips as, in harmony with each energy blast, bodies hit the ground with a plume of dust and whet this dry plane with energon. 

By the seventh verse, only a handful of voices still sung. 

_“…Worship the name of – the Valiant Spark.”_

…Until a singular voice remained - until Bumblebee’s hoarse and shaking voice came out unadulterated, unbidden and raw. When the final body hit the ground, he rose on trembling and quaking legs and so very quietly, he finished the song. 

_“And atop the rubble, with a flag in hand and a sword at hip – will be the one they spoke of,”_ He stood with a straight back and felt the liquid of coolant run from his optics, “The Valiant Spark.” 

He looked into Megatron’s optics, empty and free. He felt his eyes shine with defiance and his limbs loosen with nothingness. He took in the unreadable expression, took in the wide crimson optics and the curled lips that revealed bared denta. He took it in and he understood, and he felt his final victory suffocate in the blackness as he resigned himself to the fate that awaited him. 

It did not matter. He was free. He was dead. He was invincible. He was empty. He could not be harmed any more. 

And then it happened so suddenly. 

A silver servo clutched around Bumblebee’s neck, and he could feel the derma dent under the force. It crushed and it ached and it suffocated. 

"Let it be known, scout, that you chose silence.” 

Instinctively, his fingers scraped at Megatron’s servo, panic edging at the remnants of his sanity. 

"And thus silence will be your fate."

The energon pooled around large talons, and all Bumblebee could see were searing, violent and crimson optics. 

A hideous tearing noise enveloped his audials. It hurt at first. And then it crescendoed to a blindingly intense pain that pulsed from his fingertips to his pedes and stopped his spark. But then, as quickly as it had risen, it faded. Numbness crept through his armor and flowed through his fuel lines until finally, it was painless. 

It was near euphoric. His arms fell to their sides and his body went limp. 

The world spun and the warmth of life liquid slid across his derma. And then… and then he was lifted off the ground. The bottoms of his pedes tingled as a breeze whispered against them, as he was held by the neck. 

And slowly, his senses diminished. His frame seemed to vanish from his senses entirely and he was deafened. 

His vision began closing in on itself until the last and final, the only thing he could see were two malevolent pools of crimson glaring at him through the nothing. 

And then… and then simply nothing - euphoric and blissful nothing. 

…Oh. 

He was dying. 

The realization didn’t come with surprise or fear, Bumblebee was too tired for such emotions. But he wasn’t supposed to die, right? He would never be granted as kind a fate as death… right? 

And his comrades… His comrades were dead. The thought left him confused and sad. He felt as though he was supposed to do something about it, and yet… he felt as though he’d accomplished every single thing he’d ever needed to do. He’d done his part, he’d succeeded, and now he would rest.

He found his salvation and he would stay in this bliss for an eternity.

After all, no evil would reach him in the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is probably one chapter left... maybe. Truly, I don't know. BUT IT IS NEARING THE END.
> 
> For everyone who's kudos'd and/or commented or simply read this, thank you so much! Honestly, I really did not believe I would get much positive feedback at all, and to my absolute joy and surprise, I was proven wrong. So, once again, I cannot begin to thank you enough!
> 
> ...And, I hate to say this, but I've put this project on hiatus. I ABSOLUTELY WILL FINISH THIS STORY - however, right now life calls. There will be no updates for the foreseeable future.


End file.
